


Obstinate As A Mule (As Alive As The Desire)

by MarInk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Garfield!Spidey, Identity Porn, M/M, smartasses in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarInk/pseuds/MarInk
Summary: Peter was no stranger to weird. Weird, unexpected and bizarre were the trio he'd learned to live with since a genetically modified spider had bitten him in the neck and turned him into... whatever he was now. Some days he wasn't even sure he was human anymore, and other days he was too busy chasing giant lizards and guys in metal rhino costumes around the city to fixate on philosophy.This night, though, it was the king of bizarro, the little weirdo night all other nights don't even want to look at.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from _This Love_ by Jacques Prevert.

Getting from the car to the door was always a tiresome affair, considering how many journalists were there every time, blinding Tony with camera flashes and incredibly inane questions.

"Mr. Stark, what do you say to an exclusive interview?"

"Mr. Stark, what is next in store for the Avengers?"

"Mr. Stark, this gala is devoted to raising money for orphans, is it true you do it because you feel guilty about your countless bastard children you must have from your one-night stands?"

Did these punks seriously just suggest he didn't know how to use a condom? The nerve!

"Mr. Stark, say cheese!"

Well, that was something new, at least.

Tony turned his head to see the "cheese" guy and got another camera flash for his trouble, directly in the eyes – on a day when he forgot the sunglasses in the car, no less. Right before the camera was up and temporarily blinded him, though, he saw a wide grin, huge, liquid brown eyes and incredibly messy hair.

"Sorry," the guy said sheepishly, lowering the camera. "It was a good shot, though."

Tony blinked a couple of times, adjusting his poor abused vision. This guy absolutely had to pay for this - and also for being sort of too adorable to be angry at, rather like a puppy or something.

"Peter Parker from the Daily Bugle," Tony read his badge out loud.

"Guilty as charged?" Peter said, making it sound like a question.

"Come here." Tony grabbed him by the wrist and led him up the red carpet.

"What? Why? Mr. Stark?"

"You will be my personal reporter for the evening." Tony flashed him a smile - not as bright as that blasted camera but certainly not something to scoff at in terms of wattage.

"But the press aren't allowed inside..?"

Tony pulled him closer - Peter went, eyes wide, not protesting even as he got pressed to Tony arm to arm - and whispered in his ear: "If I say you're allowed, you're allowed. One of the perks of being me."

"Oh," Peter said weakly. "B-but - but why me? Surely, there are better reporters back there..."

"None as cheeky as you," Tony said. Pepper was so going to give him hell for this later. "Come on."

For someone who looked entirely overwhelmed by the course their evening had just taken Peter moved up the stairs with confident, fluid grace. He leaped up ahead of Tony and climbed the stairs backwards while taking shot after shot of Tony snorting at this, Tony rolling his eyes, Tony frowning, Tony trying to snatch the camera away. They reached the top of the stairs in record time, Peter laughing and Tony finally managing to latch onto the camera strap.

"Sorry, sorry," Peter breathed out, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "It's just, you look amazing toni- I-I mean, it's a unique opportunity, right? I mean, these photos are gonna look so cool, I hope you aren't too angry - and if you are, I'm totally deleting them, d'you want me to delete them right now? Mr. Stark?"

Tony contemplated the fact that there had, in fact, been a few times in his life when it took him less time to start wanting to kiss somebody he just met, and that this one, while not being a record-breaker in speed, was certainly taking the cake, as in 1) male; 2) at least twenty years younger; 3) the location so public, the only way he could make it more instantly known to all and sundry was to smooch this kid during prime-time evening news.

And Cap was always on his case about having no impulse control - hah! Look at Tony now, definitely _not _kissing a reporter on the red carpet. It took some strength of will, that's for sure.__

__"I get to veto any of them before you send them to the Bugle," Tony offered, letting go of the strap. "Keep them for now."_ _

__"Of course! Thank you!" Peter beamed at him._ _

__Hadn't Tony told Pepper that putting him in a suit and sending him to a gala was a rotten idea? She hadn't listened, of course. If he had to be away from his lab, at least he had a cute photographer kid on his arm to freak out every esteemed guest at the gala. Nothing wrong in entertaining oneself a little bit, was there?_ _

__* * *_ _

__"Have some champagne," Tony offered Peter a flute._ _

__Peter took the drink and looked at it dubiously, as if expecting it to grow teeth and bite him at any moment._ _

__"You are legal to drink it, aren't you?"_ _

__"Well, yes - in a week, you know," Peter bit his lip. "What's a week, right?"_ _

__He took a sip. Tony raised his eyebrows, watching as Peter rolled the champagne over his tongue as if deciding whether he liked the taste._ _

__"And you say that to an Avenger?" Tony said. "I'm one of the upstanding pillars of moral of this society, you know. Crushing the bad, promoting the good. Aren't you afraid I'll turn you in for underage drinking?"_ _

__"I'll tell them you gave it to me," Peter smirked at him from behind the flute. Peter's cheeks were a bit flushed, probably from pure excitement, and he shot quick glances everywhere, taking in the surroundings and the guests._ _

__It looked good on him._ _

__"My lawyers will bail me out before you even blink," Tony made a dismissing gesture with his hand. "You, on the other hand..."_ _

__Peter's smirk grew more mischievous._ _

__"I say, Mr. Stark, is there any way I can get you to reconsider throwing me into prison?"_ _

__"You are aware of what that sounded like, aren't you?" Tony smirked right back._ _

__As it sunk in, Peter looked positively mortified._ _

__"I didn't mean it like that! I mean, I sort of did but I didn't, it just felt like the thing to say, I wasn't flirting with you or anything, oh God, did I just say something about flirting with you out loud? I wasn't going to, and I wasn't going to flirt, too, it just happened, and will you stop laughing at me?"_ _

__"Nope," Tony laughed some more, just because he felt like it. "You're too flustered not to make fun of you."_ _

__"Yeah, I guess I walked right into that one, didn't I?" Peter grinned ruefully._ _

__"You absolutely did." Tony clapped him on the shoulder._ _

__"Mr. Stark, may I take a picture of you next time you laugh?" Peter asked. "It looked so good, my hands itched for the camera."_ _

__Apparently, Peter was indeed completely clueless about the concept of flirting unless someone pointed it out to him because no one could say something like "You look so good when you laugh" with such an earnest face and have it be an act._ _

__It kind of made Tony want to facepalm and, again, to kiss Peter. If it went on like this, the temptation could get seriously annoying by the end of the evening._ _

__Well, it wasn't like he'd see much of Peter Parker after tonight, was it? He'd have his slightly scandalous fun parading the kid around the gala, schmooze some with the attending high and mighty, ply him with more champagne (if only to watch his cheeks get pinker) and part ways. Peter would send his pictures to the SI marketing department to approve or disapprove of, and Tony would be back to his lab._ _

__All was well in hand._ _

__"Sure," Tony said. "You'll just have to make me laugh again to do that, I guess."_ _

__"I'll do my best," Peter said, and it sounded a bit like a promise._ _

__"And there actually is one thing you can do to make me reconsider the whole throwing you in jail idea."_ _

__"What is that?"_ _

__"Drop the Mr. Call me Tony."_ _

__"I can do that, Tony." Peter smiled._ _

__Tony got himself a flute from a nearby waiter's tray and applied his suddenly flared-up oral fixation to the drink._ _

__* * *_ _

__After a raid on the banquet table with snacks Tony left Peter to run amok for a while because if he didn't get the shmoozing on, the Pepper-retribution was going to be so much more painful. There were stockholders, and ambassadors of something or other, and direct competitors, and a visiting dowager duchess from Britain. So much talking to do and so little patience for it._ _

__Most of the time Tony kept Peter in his peripheral vision because - well, it was only prudent to know what his personal reporter for the evening was getting up to, wasn't it? To his credit, Peter didn't really get up to anything much: he took a few general wide shots of the gala and a selfie next to the chocolate fountain. A couple of times Tony caught him talking to some celebrity or other and taking a picture of them or two but Peter never lingered next to them._ _

__"Enjoying yourself?" Tony asked, anticipating Peter jumping from the unexpected voice behind his back. Sneaking on people was ever so much fun._ _

__"Yep," Peter said, turning to Tony, as if he had totally heard the latter coming in the overall noise. "Have you tried the chocolate fountain? I think my taste buds died and went to heaven."_ _

__"Are you sure you're not five?" Tony teased. A tiny droplet of chocolate rested in the left corner of Peter's mouth, and Tony found himself looking at it more than a droplet of chocolate would warrant._ _

__"Can't you see?" Peter licked his lips, missing the droplet by a hairbreadth. "Or would you like to check for yourself?"_ _

__"There you go again," said Tony, lifting his hand to Peter's face and wiping the chocolate off with his thumb. "Didn't your momma ever tell you not to flirt with big bad billionaires?"_ _

__He brought his fingers to his face and licked the chocolate off. It was sickeningly sweet through the saltiness of the skin. Peter watched Tony doing it, and Tony watched Peter's pupils dilating and heard his breath catching._ _

__"As a matter of fact, she didn't," Peter said, seemingly going for nonchalant but failing. "I guess it's too late for me to learn now?"_ _

__There was that kissing urge again. Tony wondered if they made patches for that, like for smokers._ _

__His phone chimed with a notification from Jarvis. Tony fished it out of his pocket and flipped open the hologram mode._ _

__Ah, blast it. His and Bruce's favorite research into Chitauri tech seemed to be hitting a rough patch again. What if they tried to do it this way..._ _

__"What are these specs for?"_ _

__It took Tony a moment to remember who the hell Peter was - although what he remembered didn't explain why the kid was looking at the specs with reverent fascination like a Dickensian orphan at a pile of Christmas presents, all just for him._ _

__"A little side project." Tony shrugged._ _

__"Riiiiiight," Peter said. "May I?"_ _

__He reached out for the hologram. Tony felt somewhat torn between possessiveness (my toy!), suspicion (could the guy be a corporate spy? Nah, who in their right mind would concoct a plan for gaining Tony's trust that consisted of saying "Mr. Stark, say cheese"), and curiosity._ _

__Maybe he was a cat in a past life or something._ _

__"Go ahead," Tony said._ _

__Peter took the phone and tried to move a piece of hologram. It didn't budge, though. Oh, right._ _

__"Jarvis, give him user access."_ _

__"Certainly, sir."_ _

__"Jarvis?" Peter echoed as his hand was scanned._ _

__"My butler artificial intelligence. You were going to do something with this thingamajig..?"_ _

__"Yeah, look, whatever this is, it was designed either by an alien or by a brilliant pervert." Peter's fingers flew over the hologram, swirling in the light. "It's direct organic control, see?"_ _

__"We tried it all," Tony said, disappointed. "Skin, spit, blood, electrodes, the thing is dead."_ _

__"You stuck an electrode in yourself to study an unknown piece of tech?" Peter looked at Tony in a weird way - as if he couldn't decide whether to kiss Tony or cuff him around the ear. Or maybe it was just Tony's newfound kissing obsession talking. "Never mind. You can't go with human skin on that one, these sensors are for nerve clusters - human skin doesn't work like that."_ _

__"The pieces are all charred," Tony peered at the hologram with its patchy representation of a Chitauri glider. "You think there's a cluster pattern?"_ _

__"Duh," Peter said, all smug and inspired. "See, if you grow a piece of skin like this..."_ _

__Tony was torn again - this time between asking if Peter thought Tony routinely grew alien body parts in his basement for breakfast every morning (SI wasn't that kind of company, thank you very much - unlike some starting in 'O' and ending in 'scorp') and wanting to blow Peter right there and then because damn, this kid's brain was hotter than Playboy's October centerfold in nothing but pretty-colored leaves._ _

__They talked tech some more, arguing, tearing the phone from each other's hands, drawing on napkins and getting progressively more agitated with every second._ _

__"I don't know!" Peter ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "We need to test it at this stage!"_ _

__"Let's test it!" Tony agreed and then remembered that it was sort of a hush-hush project. Kind of. Used to, a couple of hours ago, anyway._ _

__Peter sighed, letting his shoulders relax._ _

__'We can't test it right now anyway. And... hah, this gala is almost over?"_ _

__Tony looked at the jumble of data they generated. God, it was beautiful. He wanted to adopt it, and buy it a tricycle, and sing a lullaby to it at night._ _

__"Do you have a doctorate somewhere? Do you really work for the Bugle? Or were you just taking pics of me for my tech?"_ _

__Diplomacy was overrated, he thought. And this whole evening was so good, it was incredibly fishy._ _

__Peter flushed, neck to forehead - an angry, unhappy flush. He looked away from Tony and down; his fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugged reflexively._ _

__"I do work for the Bugle," Peter said. "It pays the bills. And I'm in college, I got no fucking doctorate, if you must know. I just wanted to take your picture when you got out of the car, that's all, when you..." He waved his hand vaguely, obviously referring to the grabbing and pulling performed by Tony. "Look, it's been fun... for the most part. I gotta go. Don't worry, Mr. Stark, the pictures will go through your marketing department before the Bugle publishes anything."_ _

__He turned to leave, and the reasonable parts of Tony - the Pepper-part, the Cap-part - suggested that Tony let him. What kind of an idiot believes that pretty boy geniuses just pop up out of nowhere as a sheer coincidence?_ _

__Well, Tony had broken up with Pepper a while ago, and Cap wasn't that much of an authority even in the field._ _

__"Wait." He caught Peter by the sleeve._ _

__"What?"_ _

__Damn Peter's doe eyes. They were to blame for everything._ _

__They and Peter's delicious twenty-year-old ass in those jeans. Definitely._ _

__"No 'Mr. Stark'," Tony reminded. "You agreed to the deal."_ _

__He was by no means a saint. He never even wanted to be one._ _

__He leaned in and kissed an incredulous quirk off of Peter's lips._ _

__Peter kissed him back without hesitation, hot and wet and dirty. And then he squeezed Tony's shoulders firmly and leaned back to break the kiss._ _

__Spoilsport._ _

__"Does that mean you don't think I'm here to steal your secret specs?" Peter asked, quite breathlessly. Tony would have congratulated himself on a job well-done but he was nowhere near done with Peter._ _

__"Probably," Tony said. "Why hasn't anyone snatched you up yet? I can think of an R &D head - or ten - who'd give a kidney to have you work for them."_ _

__"I've been busy." Peter shrugged. "Are you flattering my brain to get into my pants?"_ _

__"Is it working?"_ _

__"It might be," Peter said and kissed him first this time._ _

__* * *_ _

__Jarvis closed the door of the bedroom after them with a soft click. They fell on the bed, still kissing. Tony was making up for every time he'd wanted to do it tonight but didn't, and Peter seemed to be doing the same. He was hot in Tony's arms, skin so close through the thin shirt, legs hugging Tony's back._ _

__Tony buried his fingers in Peter's thick, soft hair and bit on his full lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood; Peter bucked up under him, rubbing his already hard cock against Tony's stomach._ _

__Tony licked the bitten spot, sweet and tender and pulsing madly under his tongue. Peter whimpered into his mouth, groped Tony's ass and pulled him closer, bodies flush against each other._ _

__God, it'd been so long since Tony took someone to bed like that._ _

__"Clothes off," he said, tugging at Peter's shirt. The camera and both of their jackets were already lying somewhere by the door but it was decisively not enough._ _

__Peter wriggled out of his shirt and started fumbling with the fly on his jeans. Tony covered Peter's hands with his and took over, pulling the zipper down. Peter's cock was straining against the underwear and Tony rubbed him up and down while Peter jerked into the touch._ _

__"Kiss me again," Peter demanded and Tony obliged._ _

__Peter tasted a little like chocolate and a lot like a sexy horny guy; his cock was heavy in Tony's hand, velvety soft on the surface without the barrier of the underwear._ _

__"Please, please, Tony, feels so good," Peter's hips undulated, fucking Tony's loose fist._ _

__"Doesn't take much to reduce you to begging," Tony noted._ _

__"Is that a bad thing?" Peter asked, and Tony wasn't sure if he was serious._ _

__Just how much experience did Peter have, anyway?_ _

__Tony asked him that and got a shrug in response._ _

__"I'm in college, aren't I?"_ _

__Which was a good explanation that didn't really explain anything at all. Tony'd been to college, too - started it at the same time as puberty, so there wasn't much action for him until his first doctorate was well underway._ _

__Granted, Tony started catching up as soon as he could, and did it with such enthusiasm that it took him over two decades to stop (and maybe he didn't really stop, considering tonight). But still, simply being in college didn't have to mean anything._ _

__"Why did you stop?" Peter pushed his hips into Tony. The head of his cock was leaking slightly._ _

__Tony swiped it with his thumb and kissed Peter's neck, Peter's jaw, Peter's lips. He gently bit down on a nipple and was rewarded with a moan._ _

__"Take off your clothes, too." Peter flopped open Tony's pants' button, stroking Tony's cock through the clothes, and reached for the shirt buttons._ _

__Tony caught his hand in his, stopping him._ _

__"No? Why not?"_ _

__There was a good reason why. The arc reactor wasn't a very seductive thing, was it? And Tony didn't really like the idea of someone's hands being too close to it... again._ _

__"Have you got scars or something?" Peter slipped his free hand over to Tony's clothed chest and pressed it there before Tony could stop him again. "Is that... the miniaturized arc reactor?" Peter wondered out loud._ _

__Tony set back, letting go of Peter. Sometimes a smart bed partner was a pain in the ass._ _

__"Sorry," Peter kneeled on the bed, facing Tony; his cock, still hard, was hanging out of his pants, his hair was a mess, his lips were dark in the intimate low light set by the understanding Jarvis. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm an idiot. Sorry. If a man wants to keep his shirt on, he keeps it on, that's what I say. Are you mad? Cause I'm really sorry, I'm such a moron, I didn't know..."_ _

__"Will you shut up?" Tony asked._ _

__"Possibly," Peter allowed cautiously. "Will you throw me out for being a moron?"_ _

__"I haven't so far, have I?" Tony snapped._ _

__Thinking this situation over was hard because, well, Tony was fucking hard. His cock twitched from the phantom memory of Peter's thigh, and his chest - the edges of it around the reactor, at least - still felt an echo of the warmth that Peter's hand had brought._ _

__"I can take the shirt off," Tony said. "Not the undershirt, though."_ _

__"No, no, you don't have to take off anything at all if you don't want to." Peter looked upset. "It's alright. Do you want me to go?"_ _

__"Do you want to go?"_ _

__"No," Peter admitted. "But—"_ _

__"Well, stay then."_ _

__Tony pushed Peter’s shoulder - lightly but enough to give direction and Peter went, pliant, eyes darker and bigger than ever in this stupid light. Tony leaned over him, rubbing the silk shirt against Peter's hard nipples._ _

__"I'd very much like to fuck you into the mattress tonight, if you don't mind," he said._ _

__"I thought you'd never ask," Peter said, and just like that they were back on the sexy track._ _

__The arc reactor shone faintly through the undershirt. Its cold, white light hit Peter's face under strange angles, creating hollows and crevices on his face where there were none._ _

__Tony slicked his hand with lube and nudged Peter's legs to open wider. Looking at it like this, Peter's ass was even more phenomenal than he'd thought, and Tony couldn't resist leaning down and nipping on one pert cheek._ _

__"Tasty?" Peter asked._ _

__"Delicious," Tony said and pressed on Peter's hole with one slick finger._ _

__Peter shivered as the tip went it._ _

__"Honestly, have you done this before?" Tony didn't really need to know that - he was good at introducing people to new and wonderfully dirty things about sex - but he liked watching Peter trying to concentrate on talking when he was clearly paying more attention to his own ass than ever before._ _

__"Not really," Peter said. "I tried on my own, you know, and it was nice - oh!"_ _

__He arched off the bed, clawing the sheets, and Tony nudged his prostate again._ _

__"As nice as this?" Tony kissed Peter's inner thigh._ _

__"I usually get the niceness a few notches higher, if you know what I mean."_ _

__"It sounds like a challenge," Tony said. "Most unwise to challenge me, you know that?"_ _

__"I guess that's another thing I didn't learn as a kid."_ _

__"I love it that you didn't," Tony said._ _

__Peter was really, really tight but pretty relaxed and the second finger went in without much difficulty. Tony scissored him, stroking the prostate each time with the surface of his nails, and Peter moaned again._ _

__"So tight," Tony whispered. His own cock was almost painfully hard, what with the sensation of Peter quivering on his fingers. "So hot, so loud. So good for me."_ _

__"God," Peter said, and it sounded almost like a sob. "Tony, it's so good, feels so good, please, Tony..."_ _

__"I dunno," Tony said. It took a lot of his restraint to do so, and that was scarce to begin with, but having Peter beg was fun. "Do you think I should?"_ _

__"Do I think I should come just like this, before you ever get your cock inside me?" Peter groaned and slid down along the bed, impaling himself on Tony's fingers a little more._ _

__Well, put like that it was a compelling argument._ _

__Tony's hands shook slightly with anticipation as he rolled the condom over himself. Peter wasn't helping - he was rubbing against Tony with his lower back up off the bed, flexible like a gymnast (and Tony did have some material for comparison), babbling something incomprehensible about how hot Tony was, how hard Tony's cock was, how much Peter wanted to come and how he should have probably shut up ten minutes ago._ _

__Tony hooked a hand behind Peter's neck, drew him closer to kiss him - Peter pretty much folded in half or possibly a third at this point and it didn't seem to bother him much (God, the amount of filthy, positively despicable things Tony could do with someone that supple and willing) - and pushed in._ _

__There was resistance at first; Peter gasped against Tony's lips as just the head slid in._ _

__"Relax," Tony kissed him again, swallowing Peter's ragged quick breaths. "I can get out if it's too much, is it too much? Just say the word."_ _

__"I'm good," Peter said and snatched another kiss from Tony. "Relaxing. Just... not very fast. Sorry."_ _

__"Apologizing in bed is a mood killer," Tony complained. "Why on Earth did you say that, never say that unless someone's actually hurt."_ _

__"Oh. Sorry I killed the mood?" Peter said._ _

__"Are you having me on? You're totally having me on while I've got my cock inside you, you're evil, you're an evil supervillain who seduced me." Tony looked Peter in the eye, leaning forehead to forehead, and sure enough, Peter's eyes were bright with laughter, and if he looked further down there'd probably be that same grin he'd seen several hours ago just before getting an eyeful of camera flash._ _

__He brought his hand to Peter's cock - half in petty revenge, half in wanting to drive Peter as lust-crazed as he himself felt at the moment (okay, that might have been petty revenge too. Just a little). He stroked fast, tight, flicking his wrist every time he went down. He loved doing it so much that it almost came as a surprise when Peter dug his fingers into Tony's shoulders and pushed his hips up, taking Tony all the way in._ _

__"You good?" Tony exhaled._ _

__Not moving, not moving, not moving until Peter is ready. Not moving._ _

__"Peachy." Peter said. "Now please, please get on with that fucking me into the mattress business you promised, or I'll probably die from blue balls."_ _

__As far as either quips or pleas went, this was pretty lame. Tony didn't mind, though._ _

__He thrust once, twice, slipping out almost fully and then slamming back in. Peter met each thrust, gasping, moaning, and it drove Tony crazy._ _

__He moved faster and faster and Peter still matched him, a jerk of hips for a jerk of hips; the litany of whimpers and moans grew completely incoherent, and Tony started jerking him off again. It only took a few strokes for Peter to cry out sharply and come, tightening all around Tony. Tony fucked him through it, murmuring into Peter's mouth how good it was, how sweet his ass was, how lovely it felt around Tony's cock, so hot, so slick, so sexy, so good._ _

__Peter kissed him again, maybe just to shut him up, and Tony came so hard, there might have been a star or two._ _

__* * *_ _

__Tony woke up in the middle of the night. Peter was splayed over the sheets and the comforter next to him, his hair a dark halo against the white pillow, looking for all purposes sound asleep._ _

__Tony moved to sit, and Peter's hand shot up from the bed to close over Tony's wrist with bizarre precision._ _

__"Jesus! Give a guy a warning next time, will you?"_ _

__"S'rry," Peter mumbled, letting go, and burrowed his cheek deeper into the pillow. "Wher'ya goin'?"_ _

__"The lab."_ _

__"You gonna test that nerve cluster thing now?" Peter propped himself up on the elbows. "Can I come with?"_ _

__"Nope." Tony grabbed some pants from the floor - presumably his own - and went on to put the legs in their appropriate holes. "Got an idea about my armor, wanna tinker."_ _

__"Oh." Peter flopped back on the bed. "I guess that's even more secret than the alien thing."_ _

__It was. And it wasn't like Tony particularly needed an input from Peter - or anyone, for that matter - about his armor._ _

__"At least tell me, is it a cool idea?" Peter teased._ _

__"Of course it is!" Tony feigned indignation. "And I'm still not telling you what it is, just so you know."_ _

__"I'd think you were off your rocker if you told me." Peter shrugged and stretched in the bed, yawning. "You were sort of right at the gala - you just met me. For all you know I could be the Red Skull in disguise or something."_ _

__"I hope you aren't," Tony said fervently._ _

__Peter laughed at him and Tony kissed him for it._ _

__"Seriously, though," Peter said after a while. "I get it, it's cool, and I don't wanna know your hero secrets."_ _

__He sighed._ _

__"I just wish you were going to work on something not so important so I could drool all over it too, you know. I'm hardly going to get a chance to work with you again."_ _

__"How do you know you won't?" Tony asked._ _

__"I'm not a hero, or a secret agent, or a big-name scientist, or a CEO mentioned in the Forbes. Not like we'll be rubbing elbows much in the future. And everyone knows you don't do long-term, so a no-go on that front, too."_ _

__"Do you?" Tony asked._ _

__"Do I what?"_ _

__"Do long-term."_ _

__"Sometimes," Peter said. He didn't sound very enthusiastic about the idea._ _

__Tony looked at him - obscenely young and smart and so very clinical about a one-night stand with a superhero billionaire twice his age. His lips were still a tiny bit puffed from when Tony had bit them._ _

__"You know what, the armor can wait till tomorrow," Tony said. "Want a peek at the next-next generation Starkphone? We're still working out the kinks, though."_ _

__Peter grinned._ _

__"You had me at kinks," he said._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Peter was no stranger to weird. Weird, unexpected and bizarre were the trio he'd learned to live with since a genetically modified spider had bitten him in the neck and turned him into... whatever he was now. Some days he wasn't even sure he was human anymore, and other days he was too busy chasing giant lizards and guys in metal rhino costumes around the city to fixate on philosophy.

This night, though, it was the king of bizarro, the little weirdo night all other nights don't even want to look at. Talking to Tony Stark ( _the_ Tony Stark, and wasn't this one fact enough to make any science nerd worth their salt hyperventilate on the spot?), discussing alien tech with Tony Stark, sleeping with Tony Stark. At some point during the evening Peter had stopped wondering if he had been sleeping all this time and seeing the wettest dream in the history of wet dreams and just, you know, rolled with it. Peter was okay at rolling with things. Came with all that enhanced spider agility and whatnot.

Tony Stark was scorching hot, after all, his brain and body both. A good moment to confess to having Tony a semi-regular visitor in pubescent midnight wank fantasies had never come up as Peter was actually having sex with him, of course, but the memory had lingered somewhere in the recesses of Peter's mind at the time, that much was true.

Peter was no idiot, either. Much as superheroing seemed to have grounded Tony somewhat if the media were to be believed (and they really weren't - take the Bugle, for example), Peter had held no illusions about the oncoming awkwardness of the morning after and the necessity of it. He'd have swung right out of the window when Tony was asleep but there must have been cameras everywhere. Disclosing one's secret identity while fleeing to protect said identity would be a very stupid thing to do.

So he'd stayed and slept, even though he usually patrolled the streets at this hour, and Tony offered him to play with a future Starkphone (an utter, breathtaking thing of beauty, in Peter's opinion, and he'd pre-order one if he had any money) and the morning after crept up on him really soon.

"I gotta go to my classes," Peter said, closing the array of holograms in front of him with a wave. "Don't wanna be late and miss out on any drops from the fountain of wisdom, and all that."

He'd been rehearsing it in his head on and off since the moment Tony kissed him at the gala and he thought it sounded smooth enough. Two adult consenting people with a common healthy appreciation for tech and sex had spent an enjoyable night together and it was time to say their civilized goodbyes and go on with their respective lives. Right? Right.

"Really?" Tony said. He was looking at Peter like he knew Peter was lying through his teeth, at least in the wisdom part. His morning classes were mind-numbingly boring, to tell the truth. "Don't you want breakfast first, at least?"

"Breakfast?"

"Yep. That thing that most people have in the morning. They say it helps them feel good around the middle. Freaky, right?"

"Shut up," Peter said. Tony was smiling. Perhaps it was really the done thing, to have breakfast before leaving? There must have been an etiquette for these morning-after affairs, and Peter would hardly know, would he, since it was his first ever proper one-night stand?

He wondered if it'd be the last, too. Not much would beat this night, with awesome tech and Tony freaking Stark.

It helped to think about him as just Tony, thankfully, otherwise he'd never get over being starstruck.

"Sure," he said. "What do you have? I can whip up some pancakes."

"He can cook, too," Tony marveled. "A pure wunderkind, are you?"

"Calling me a kid again? I thought you spent most of the night checking thoroughly that I wasn't one." Peter grinned.

It was easy to joke with Tony and tease him. Even Gwen had a few times taken offense at him being a smartass in private - stop, no thinking about Gwen. Not right now. It still hurt, and Peter wasn't ready for emotional breakdowns in front of Tony.

So not ready.

"Point taken," Tony capitulated and kissed Peter. They both had morning breath - or sleepless night breath since they'd never gone back to bed after they got to fiddling with the Starkphone - but it was still good.

Peter liked how Tony just went for a kiss whenever he felt like one, the way people reach for a glass of water when they were thirsty. It fitted him.

"No need to slave over the stove, though," Tony said. "Cap's probably made bacon and eggs for everyone already."

"Cap?" Peter tried to get rid of the unmanly squeak in his voice and found that his throat was caught. Tony was one thing, but Peter hadn't really been counting on slurping his morning OJ with Captain America across the table.

And did Tony say 'everyone'?

"Cap, yes," Tony said, pushing Peter into the lift. Peter was too dumbstruck to protest that he couldn't go have breakfast with Captain America barefoot and wearing jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt of Tony's. "He likes this domestic shtick, says it helps with the team-building or some such drivel. And I'm smart enough not to pass up on the man's breakfasts, even if they are usually sort of my dinners."

The lift opened its seamless doors and Peter followed Tony to the kitchen because his only alternative at this point was to jump out of the window and crawl down the wall on all fours, and he wasn't quite that frantic yet.

 

"A-are you sure I should be here?" Peter tried one more time. "If it's a team thing, I wouldn't want to intrude or anything..."

 

"Too late to doubt," Tony said, flinging open the kitchen door. "Time to face the slings and arrows of outrageous something."

God, Peter hoped the quote was metaphorical.

The kitchen was huge - an entire floor of Aunt May's house would have fit inside it. Shining chrome and stainless steel and lots of sunshine pouring in from tall windows and - Peter swallowed and contemplated crawling out of here almost seriously - Captain America frying bacon and eggs.

There was someone else in there, reading a book at the table. Was it..?

"Good morning, Tony," said Captain America. "Who's your friend?"

"Cap, Peter; Peter, Cap." Tony pointed his thumb at each of them in turn and made a beeline for the percolating coffee maker. "And that there is Bruce. Bruce, that there is Peter. Unfortunately, Thor is currently in heaven, or Asgard as they call it these days, and Hawkeye and Widow are away on a hush-hush mission. It's so hush-hush, I'm probably going to have to cut off my own tongue for betraying this vital piece of information."

Oh God, oh God, it was Bruce Banner. And he smiled at Peter before going back to the book, oh God.

"Try not to drool so much," Tony chuckled.

Peter glared at him. Tony grinned and sipped his coffee with a happy sigh.

"Hi," Peter said. Could he sound any more like a hopeless fanboy? "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Peter." Captain America nodded at the fridge. "There's milk and juice there. Clean mugs are in the cupboard to my left, please, help yourself."

Peter got himself a glass of orange juice and sat down at the table gingerly between Tony and Dr. Banner.

"All ready," Captain America said, setting a few plates full of bacon, eggs, toast and fresh cut up veggies on the table.

Peter nibbled on a piece of toast. It was good, for a toast. Not burned or anything.

"So, Peter, how do you and Tony know each other?" Captain America asks, looking genuinely interested. "I don't think he mentioned you before."

The toast went down the wrong pipe, causing Peter to have a coughing fit.

Did he have to explain to Captain America about one night stands? Did he really, really have to?

As Peter coughed, trying to look dignified and failing (no one could be dignified with toast crumbs tickling their throat from the inside), Captain America took pity on him and looked at Tony instead.

"We met last night at the gala," Tony said distractedly, typing on his phone. "Had wild gay sex all night and here we are."

On the other hand, maybe it would have gone better if Peter tried to do it himself.

Dr. Banner chuckled and shook his head without looking up, and the tips of Captain America's ears turned pink.

Peter's sex life caused Captain America to blush. Peter kind of wished the toast had gotten stuck across his esophagus and choked him to death.

"Oh, I... I see."

There was disapproval on Captain's face and Peter wondered if it was directed at the gay thing, or the TMI thing, or the general promiscuity of today's youth, or a possible breach of security from bringing a virtual stranger to breakfast with the Avengers. Or possibly all of the above.

"Peter, would you pass the salt?"

Oh God, Bruce Banner was asking Peter to pass the salt. Peter should probably stop thinking 'Oh God' so much or it could spill out through his mouth at some point and cause the embarrassment meter to explode.

"Peter?" Dr. Banner repeated. There was a hint of uneasiness in his voice and it was totally understandable. Hard to be cool as a cucumber when a guy you see for the first time in your life is staring at you creepily without saying a word.

There was something Peter forgot... Oh. The salt.

Peter grabbed it and passed it over. Was it possible to pass the salt like a complete dork? Obviously, it was.

"There you are," he mumbled.

"Thanks," Dr. Banner said wryly.

Well, at least they talked. There had been a legitimate interaction between Peter and Dr. Bruce Banner himself. If Peter had any friends, he would lord it over them for months.

"You shouldn't be afraid of Bruce, Peter," the Captain said. His voice was that phony kind of airy which one got when one made an effort to mask something unpleasant with politeness.

"I'm not afraid!" Peter protested. Even if there was a chance of Dr. Banner turning into Hulk and rampaging all over the place (and Peter rather thought this chance was very small), he could always swing away and hide someplace far and small where the Hulk wouldn't get him. Not that the Captain knew that, of course. "I'm just—"

"It's okay," Dr. Banner interrupted.

"No, I'm really not afraid," Peter insisted because he really, really wasn't. "It's just, your work on antielectron collisions, it's - it's absolutely unparalleled. I-I'm a huge fan, to be honest."

Dr. Banner looked at Peter with a small smile.

"Are you, by any chance, also a fan of how I turn into an enormous green rage-monster when I lose control?"

"Yes, of course," Peter said. Who wasn't? "It's a unique result of the application of gamma radiation to human DNA, and it's such a spit in the face of conventional physics, it's incredibly awesome. And, well, an enormous green rage-monster is just awesome, period."

Did he just describe the Hulk to Dr. Banner in sophisticated scientific terms of 'awesome'?

...At least he had the consolation of knowing he'd never see Dr. Banner again, so the moronic dorkiness wouldn't be held against him in the future.

"Marry him, Tony," Dr. Banner said, grinning. "You're a match made in heaven."

Peter blinked. What?

"Wait till you see what he can do in the lab," Tony retorted. "I bet you'll want him all to yourself then."

The Captain looked at them all, sighed and started plowing through his eggs, looking for all the world like he had given up on trying to figure out if it was a gay sex metaphor. Peter could sympathize - he wasn't so sure about that himself.

 

"The lab? You two worked on something together?"

 

Peter sipped his OJ and weighed his options. He was already late to his morning classes and the usual mornings after weren't probably supposed to go this way, but who cared?

 

"He showed me the specs for an alien glider," Peter said. "The best pick-up line in my life."

 

Tony snorted into his coffee and some of it went up his nose.

 

"Not fair!" He protested, taking a napkin offered by an amused Dr. Banner. "Urgh, this is gross. Why do you quip while I'm drinking? You're forbidden from quipping while I'm drinking. I declare it a crime on the sovereign territory of Stark tower."

 

"I wish I had my camera with me right now," Peter said.

 

"Camera? You like photography?"

 

"I'm a reporter for the Daily Bugle," Peter said absent-mindedly, still too busy watching Tony blowing coffee out of his nose into the napkin. It was gross but at the same time kind of... sweet.

 

"A reporter?" Captain America repeated.

 

Uh-oh.

 

"I'm not here to report on anything, I swear." Peter reassured him hastily. "I was just at the gala taking pictures of Tony like everyone else, and he, ah, he talked to me and, ah, stuff. You know. I'm not gonna take your pictures when you're just having breakfast!"

 

"That's a new one from a paparazzi," Dr. Banner noted without much inflection one way or the other. His words could be turned into a joke or, well, not.

 

Why were these people always suspecting him of something? Geeze, and Peter had always been told he had a trustworthy face. Apparently not among superheroes, he didn't.

 

"Not my line of work, catching celebs in their underwear." He shrugged. "I earn my keep taking pictures of Spider-Man. No one else ever got a decent shot of him in a fight, you know. I was only at that gala last night 'cause our other photographer got sick and Mr. Jameson had to send someone."

 

There was a pause, and Peter added, feeling almost offended (what did he care what they thought of him anyway? He'd be out of here as soon as he was done with his juice, maybe earlier), "It all checks out if you want to check. Call the paper, call the sick guy, hack into the surveillance video archive at the Bugle and watch me being ordered to head to the gala and get a photo of Tony Stark climbing out of his limo, or else."

 

Captain America gave Tony a look which clearly said 'I don't know if he's telling the truth but it doesn't seem like he's the Red Skull in disguise, so he's your problem, not mine.' Tony didn't seem to mind - or even acknowledge the look, for that matter.

 

'Ah,' Dr. Banner said and bit into a piece of a tomato. He chewed, swallowed and then asked Peter: "So what did you think of those specs?"

 

"There's a nerve cluster pattern! We designed a model of a patch of alien skin with appropriate patterns and I think there should be an intermittent pulse to activate these..." Peter picked up Tony's phone and tried to unlock it to call up the designs they'd made up last night. The phone asked for a fingerprint.

 

"Give it here," Tony said, smirking. "You got user access, not admin access."

 

Peter rolled his eyes and handed the phone to Tony. Tony took it, brushing Peter's fingers with his, unlocked the screen and gave it back.

 

"Here, see, it's definitely a pattern." Peter turned the phone to Dr. Banner and saw that the latter was staring with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

It really was creepy when people did that, Peter admitted.

 

"Dr. Banner?"

 

Dr. Banner shook his head, as if collecting his thoughts.

 

"Just Bruce will suffice, Peter. Intermittent, you say?"

 

* * *

 

All good things were supposed to come to an end. It was with mixed feelings that Peter left Stark tower that evening, his backpack over his shoulder and his head buzzing pleasantly from both the science he'd done with Bruce and Tony and the heated, passionate blowjob Tony had given him before lunch. Peter's legs had felt like jello for about ten minutes after that.

A tiny part of Peter might have wished even for him and Tony to exchange phone numbers and meet up again sometime, but Peter squashed it mercilessly. Long-term never worked out for him - either friendship or something more. Look at what happened to Gwen and Harry.

Peter fished his phone out of his backpack and checked the messages and calls. There were quite a few: Jameson was ranting on about Peter's uselessness due to lack of gala photos (man, he'd forgotten all about those, hadn't he?), Aunt May, sounding both stern and worried ("Peter, you could at least give me a call that you weren't coming home at all last night! Why is it that Harry has to call me and tell you're staying at his place?"), Harry-

Wait, what?

Was Harry... back to his old self? But how did he know Peter would need an alibi? How did he know Peter hadn't called Aunt May himself? It must be some perverted trick of the Goblin's...

Peter's hands shook as he listened to Harry's - the Goblin's - voicemail: "Tsk, tsk, Peter. You are a very naughty boy, aren't you? Picking up rich old men at parties. Did he pay you or just promise an autograph? Oh, never mind that, you were probably ready to pay him to get him to fuck you. I used to be your best friend, Peter, I know whose poster hung over your bed since you were old enough to know a circuit board from a slice of orange. I hope you are holding the memory of last night very, very dear because very soon I will destroy Tony Stark just as I destroyed Gwen Stacy. Before you die, Peter, everything and everyone you love will have perished."

It stopped there but it was more than enough. The Goblin's snarling drawl was stuck in Peter's ears as he lowered the hand with the phone.

It couldn't be true. Please let it not be true. Tony wasn't supposed to suffer from being close to Peter! That was why Peter slipped away without saying goodbye when Bruce went to shower after getting protein goo all over himself and Tony went to hunt down takeout menus to order some dinner. That was why he never let himself get close to anyone in college. 

This one slip-up, one mistake, and the Goblin was here, ready to hurt Tony just because Peter liked him.

Oh fuck.

Peter sent off a text to Aunt May saying he'd be in the library till late and he was very sorry about last night; after that he changed in an alley behind a dumpster where only a few rats saw him becoming Spider-Man and went swinging around the city.

* * *

The air was chilly after sunset, despite it being the end of April. All skyscrapers' windows had been washed squeaky clean and reflected the neon glory of New-York with eerie clarity. The glass felt cool and firm under the tips of Peter's fingers and toes.

What on Earth was he going to do?

 

On the one hand, Tony Stark could certainly take good care of himself. He was a genius, filthy rich and deadly efficient in battle. He could take on a whole trained army and come out on top; unlike Gwen, he wasn't a vulnerable civilian.

On the other hand, Tony was a public figure. He visited his office with hundreds of employees - any one of whom could be a traitorous weak link - held press conferences, appeared on TV, attended board meetings, galas, fundraisers, left the country for business negotiations. He was human, after all, and could venture into a restaurant for dinner or a nearby Starbucks for a caffeine fix and a cinnamon swirl - without the armor, without security.

Also, even during a fight the Goblin could strike from behind and Tony wouldn't be ready, wouldn't expect it. Or the Goblin could toss a poisonous gas bomb through Tony's bedroom window at night (or day, as far as Tony's specific sleep preferences went) and Tony would just never wake up.

Cold, abject horror clawed at Peter's guts at the thought.

He had to warn Tony - but how would he explain it without dragging up the whole sorry matter of the history between Peter and Harry? And Tony was unlikely to just take him at his word and not ask for any explanations, no matter if Peter showed up as Peter or as Spider-man (aka a wanted rogue vigilante). Those Avengers were an extremely paranoid bunch, which was probably to be expected in their line of work.

Peter swung over to the Stark Tower and perched there upside down, sticking his feet to the ledge from beneath. He was half-waiting for a security drone to taze him or something but minutes passed and nothing happened.

Maybe Tony's paranoia didn't go this far. Could Peter maybe follow Tony around until the Goblin made a move? Guard him unseen? Granted, it would be difficult - Gwen had caught up to some extent to him watching over her, Tony was bound to be at least just as observant. Although, she had known exactly who he was and what he could do, and Tony had no idea he'd spent 24 hours alternatively sexing up and sciencing up Spider-man. Was sciencing even a word? It should be.

Peter mulled over the idea some more. He could spend a few days looking after Tony, learning his schedule, and then only follow him when something unpredictable happened, as much as he could. He'd still have time to show up in class and see Aunt May, though leaving Tony alone was risky. Look what had happened last night - he'd brought a virtual stranger into his bed and shared secret tech stuff with him. Peter would never ever in a million years use this trust to harm Tony, but the latter didn't know that, did he? He'd taken a huge risk, and the next one night stand might turn out to be not an aspiring superhero but an agent of the Goblin's (not to mention some of Tony's own enemies, and how was that man still alive when he treated his security with such recklessness?).

Maybe Peter could hack into Jarvis to track Tony's calendar? No, no, bad idea. Peter was good with computers but nowhere near as good as that.

Although... Jarvis was Tony's, wasn't he? Peter could try to hack someone else who would know about Tony's to-do list but probably wasn't using Jarvis. Say, Pepper Potts, Tony's ex-assistant, ex-girlfriend, current CEO? Of course, even if she wasn't using Jarvis, her systems would still be protected, but Peter could live with most complicated firewalls, as long as they weren't artificial intelligence.

He'd try that later, when he'd scrounged up a laptop he could try to make untraceable and ditch at a moment's notice if something went wrong. Hacking 101: never try to hack someone smarter, richer and more experienced than you with the same device where you log in to your Facebook and store your embarrassing school photos.

The sheer (stupid) boldness and criminality of his plans made Peter feel uneasy.

"It's not stalking if I'm only doing it to protect him," Peter told himself out loud.

His reflection in the dark window seemed to be looking at him skeptically.

 

* * *

 

That night Peter came home late, bearing the apology of groceries in his arms and the most moving innocent puppy look on his face that he could master.

"Oh, Peter," said Aunt May sadly and sat him down for a late dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. 

Peter felt guilty at her silent acceptance of all this. She even cooked his favorite comfort food even though she didn't know if he'd be back tonight. Did he have to be such a douche to the only family he had?

He wondered what she would say if she knew where he'd been last night and with whom. He'd never even told her he was bi; she might have guessed but if she had, she'd never said a word. Would she think he was a horrible person for going to Tony's for the night or for leaving like he had, without a word, without a discernible reason even?

Why had he left like that, anyway? He could have behaved like a civilized homo sapiens and told Tony there was an emergency or something. Was he afraid Tony would have convinced him to stay a while longer?

Peter made himself stop thinking about it because that way lay madness.

"I haven't heard anything about Harry from you for a long time," Aunt May said. "Did you two have a falling out?"

It was one way to put that.

"Sort of," Peter said. "Aunt May, I'll be working on this big project for some time, so I'll be late most nights, research and all. Don't wait up for me, okay? I'll be okay, don't worry about me."

Aunt May hugged him, and Peter buried his face in her hair. He never noticed before - his smell sense isn't all that enhanced, only slightly better than human - but she smelled old, . And she was so small and fragile in his arms.

 _Everything and everyone you love will have perished_. That had to include Aunt May, Peter loved her so much and the Goblin had to know that. There were no threats to her, though... yet.

Peter hugged her back with a bit too much strength.

"I will always worry, Peter," she said. "You're my boy, how can I not?"

"It's my turn to worry about you and take care of you," he protested. "What you should do is go to sleep at night, okay?"

She gave him no promises, though.

* * *

Peter woke up three hours after he'd gone to bed, his heart beating wildly; he found himself stuck to the ceiling above the bed, having apparently catapulted himself straight up. He leaned his forehead against the plaster and tried to get his panicked breathing under control.

He'd seen both of them dead: Aunt May and Tony, lying unnaturally still in puddles of their own blood. In the dream - the nightmare - he tried to shake them awake, called them by name but they never replied. Their eyes were empty, just like Gwen's when Peter had cradled her in his arms, dead, dead, dead.

There was the Goblin's laughter, too. Peter had heard it several times as they fought in the streets since Peter had got his shit together and gone back to fighting (and just in time, too - that silly brave kid, the Rhino would have left him a bloody pancake). That laughter was nothing like Harry's; it was high-pitched, hysterical, with the undertone of anger which indicated that laugh could become a snarl in the next moment.

It chilled Peter to the bone in the dream.

Sleeping was a pipe dream at this point: as soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Aunt May's hair soaked in blood or Tony's neck snapped and bent at a 90° angle to his body.

He let the ceiling go reluctantly - hanging off of there was comforting - checked on Aunt May who was sleeping peacefully and went over to Stark Tower.

After making sure that everything was in order (no explosions? Check. No screams of terror? Check? No Golblin cackling by Tony's bedroom window? Check) he set to his guard duty. It was highly unlikely that the Goblin would attack tonight or that Tony would go anywhere at this time, so he put an earbud in one ear to listen to his police scanner app and started typing up his term paper in the new message form to send himself to his email later. He hadn't started on that yet, and while colleges could be lax about attendance, he had to ace all of his papers and exams, or his scholarship would be out the window and Aunt May would have a heart attack.

All in all, he was pretty busy up there. Not that it excused him for not noticing Iron Man flying right up to him; even the spidey-sense abandoned him, so engrossed he was in listening and writing.

"Sooo... to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Peter startled, dropping his phone, and only spider's reflexes saved his paper from meeting the sidewalk in a very violent manner.

Tony's voice in the suit was distorted, mechanical, but still recognizable. Peter opened his mouth to say something; however, as soon as he uttered the first sounds it occurred to him that Tony could probably recognize his voice too. They only spent one day together but Peter tended to babble a lot, and it wasn't long ago.

So he shut his mouth, leaving Tony with a strangled "Hnrgl!".

"Eloquent," Tony commented, folding his arms across his chest with an audible 'clank' of metal. "If you could elaborate on that, please?"

Peter couldn't, not really. So he let go of the ledge he'd been holding onto with his feet and let himself drop at least twenty stories before he kicked the wall to change direction.

He webbed a decently high building on the left once, twice, getting closer to it. A steady whooshing sound was behind Peter. Shit, shit, shit, no way was he able to outfly Iron Man. That armor could break the sound barrier before Peter could say "The truth is, I'm Spider-man"!

However, there was also no way he could let Tony catch and unmask him. So he had to think of something.

Tony most probably underestimated Spider-man, Peter thought, webbing a lamppost and only avoiding a collision with Iron Man by the skin of his teeth. A kid in a leotard who fights street thugs against an armored Avenger who'd flown a nuke into space and lived to tell the tale? Double ha with a pfft on top. That must have been why Tony hadn't attacked him there by the roof and started making witty remarks instead, even went as far as to fold his arms which would slow him down in case he had to resort to firing his repulsors.

That was something Peter could use. It wasn't the first time he fought someone stronger or better equipped, after all.

 

"What's with the silent treatment? Tony taunted. "I heard you'd joke with a thug in a rhino suit - but not with me? I am wounded, Spidey, my inner child is crying. Are you ashamed you made a kid cry?"

About a dozen retorts danced on the tip of Peter's tongue but he swallowed them back and leaped over to another lamppost instead. He caught it with the tips of his fingers and swung around it; Iron Man's metal knuckles grazed his shoulder. He flipped up sideways and pushed himself off the lamppost with his toes, landing neatly on Iron Man's back.

"Whoa!" Tony said.

Not sparing any time or effort for a response, Peter webbed with a lightning speed: Iron Man's faceplate, repulsors, boot thrusters; as a final move he bound the limbs to the body, hoping really strongly that the webbing fluid wouldn't run out.

It would only take Tony a few moments to tear off some of the webbing and burn through the rest. It wouldn't have been nearly enough if Peter wanted to defeat Tony but he only wanted to escape and he gained the precious time to do so, the time during which Tony couldn't follow him, couldn't get a visual of him.

One good thing about fighting street thugs was that Peter had gotten to know the city quite well; having to hide all the time and unconstrained by the limits of public transportation, he knew, well, if not every nook and cranny on New-York, then a lot of them.

He felt the distant warmth of the repulsors blasting and heard Tony curse as he jumped off. Legging it to the nearby dark alley, jumping over a fence, running, running, swinging lowly, keeping away from cameras and prying eyes. One freshly published - and caught by Jarvis - Spider-man pic on Twitter could be his downfall.

There it was: the bridge. Peter climbed under it, feeling a bit like a fairy-tale troll. Tony could still track him, though. Peter didn't know for sure but was ready to bet Tony was pissed off enough to sweep the area and had thermal imaging in that armor.

A familiar whooshing sound appeared - very faintly, at the limits of Peter's hearing abilities. Peter wasted no time spinning a cocoon of webs, stuck underwater to the wall of the bridge, where the lights of the New-York neon-lit night didn't quite reach, and slid inside it without a splash.

God, it was cold. Peter curled into a ball, only leaving the lower half of his face above the water. The Hudson smelled like the sewers - a sadly familiar scent - and it was icy, burning cold. Peter hoped his teeth wouldn't start chattering and give him away.

He couldn't really hear Tony anymore, what with water filling his ears, and he didn't want to risk going to the surface just to check if the coast was clear. His whole body was slowly going numb; it was good because it made the cold less painful, and it was bad because it was never a smart idea to be submerged in a river without feeling a single limb.

Peter took slow, shallow, controlled breaths. In, out. His phone was probably done for, and the beginning of the paper with it - he hadn't sent it to his e-mail, too busy avoiding capture by Tony. He'd try taking it apart later and drying all the parts separately - if it was still salvageable, Peter's meager budget would be really grateful.

He imagined telling his applied physics professor that he lost his paper hiding under a bridge from Iron Man, and it made him laugh out loud. Foul-tasting water got into his mouth through a small hole in the mask and Peter went up, splattering and spitting blindly - still wearing the mask.

"Argh," he said, deciding that if Tony was still around to hear him, he'd have heard all the splattering already.

He waited for a few heartbeats but, excluding the sound of cars whizzing along the bridge high up, it was quiet.

Peter's fingers and toes were too numb to feel the wall as he climbed up. Once out, he headed directly for home, his teeth doing a staccato and his body feeling sort of not there.

When he was finally under a hot - heavenly, blessedly hot - shower, he was able to think a bit more clearly.

There went all his plans to follow Tony and protect him. Now, because Peter had seen a stupid nightmare and got stupidly worried, Tony would probably jump at the next chance he got to take Spider-man in. And Peter could hardly protect Tony from the Goblin as Peter without blowing his secret identity to smithereens - not to mention that Tony had most likely forgot all about Peter's existence and wouldn't want this kid he'd fucked once following him places.

Feeling rather screwed on all fronts, dejected and still cold, Peter went to sleep. Maybe tomorrow he'd think of something.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony was an obsessive person. He was quite aware of the fact and had learned to embrace it, most of the time; with some things it counteracted his short attention span nicely. Besides, some of the stuff that he just couldn't let go was important - say, his armor. Or Pepper. Or SI.

It didn't always play out so well, Tony concluded at 2 a.m. after rewatching Peter pick up his backpack and leave for the seventh time in a row. What was the kid's deal? Had he gotten bored with the awesome Chitauri tech experiments? Had he disliked the way he came into Tony's mouth, babbling and screaming? Jarvis hadn't registered Peter answering a phone call or having any communication with the outside world whatsoever. Any classes he might have been late to had been over for hours already.

Tony just couldn't get it. Not a single word, not a fucking lick of explanation. It was a mystery (and a little insulting, to be honest) and it bugged him, and bugged him, and bugged him.

"Jarvis, put away the video," he said. "Get me Peter's address, phone number and email."

"Of course, sir. As long as you are aware that collecting information on someone who has not divulged it willingly may be perceived as bordering on illegal."

"Well, don't get caught then," Tony said, surly.

It went without saying that Jarvis didn't get caught. Cyber security in the ESU was laughable. Maybe Stark Industries should look into the corporate security market, see what they could do.

Since it was well into the night Tony decided to give Peter a courtesy and not call while the latter was (presumably) sleeping. He called up armor schematics and played around with them for a few minutes. There were some things that could be improved in the shielding area...

* * *

The morning met a very disgruntled Tony. That bizarre skirmish with Spider-man - who, as far as Tony was able to tell, had hung out by the tower just for the sheer joy of hanging and texting someone - hadn't done anything to mellow Tony out. And there was still no sign of Peter who had, apparently, decided against initiating any contact with Tony, however remote it may be, and only published in the Bugle the photo taken while Tony was getting out of the car. Not a whiff of any of those he'd taken while they were going up the stairs.

Was Peter just creeped out by what happened? He'd hardly planned on falling into Tony's bed (the whole 'my coworker was ill' story checked out, and Tony checked thoroughly) or staying behind. Maybe he wasn't really interested in tech, despite having a talent for it rating up there with genius. Perhaps it was the age difference. It was kind of big and it was partly why Tony had held out for so long at the gala without kissing Peter. Was he turning into a creepy old man lustfully chasing young people? Would he marry another young and pretty guy or girl in ten or fifteen years and Pepper would tell him that he was insane and that at his age it was prudent to think with his upper head for once?

Tony shivered at the thought. She was probably going to tell him all that right now because, well, the current difference. Ouch.

Although, Peter didn't seem at all creeped out in bed that night. He enjoyed himself quite a lot, and Tony was a good judge of that, thank you very much. Could it be that Peter only wanted that - one night of sex without strings? Had there been a bet with friends that he could get into Tony Stark's bed, and when Tony'd started holding him back for games in the lab and more, unplanned sex, Peter freaked out?

This was going to drive Tony nuts.

"You're thinking very loudly," Bruce said mildly, putting a cup full of coffee next to Tony. "Penny for your thoughts?"

It was hard to resist Bruce's Zen and coffee both. Tony didn't even try, actually; he liked Bruce and coffee, why torture himself?

"What would you do with a penny?" He asked. The coffee was hot and bitter, just the way Tony liked it.

"Keep it as a souvenir," Bruce said. "Don't tell me - you're thinking about Peter."

"Don't tell me it wasn't weird the way he bolted while no one was watching," Tony retorted. "Anyway, I got his address. And his phone number. And email. And class schedule. I'll ask him what the problem was."

"Because stalking is the answer to all life's problems?" Bruce raised his eyebrows. Tony could feel slight disapproval directed at his person. Jeeze, it wasn't even stalking. It wasn't like Tony wrote Peter creepy sex-related messages and hacked into his Facebook page or something.

"I'm not stalking anyone. I'll just talk to him, clear the air, that sort of thing. There's some polluted air that needs clearing."

Bruce sighed.

"I'd say you were nuts for caring so much about someone you only met once but then again, you're always nuts," he said fondly. Tony scowled at him and got a small smile in return. "Do you know the gossip sites are already full of news about you sleeping with a male reporter twice as young as you?"

"I didn't know until you told me." Tony shrugged. "Your point being? They are always gossiping about me one way or the other. Why, when Cap first stayed in the tower overnight they all thought it meant I seduced him. I think that's mostly why he keeps the lease on that dingy apartment in Brooklyn."

"Maybe Peter doesn't want that kind of publicity," Bruce mused. "He of all people would know how vicious reporters can be."

"One conversation won't do more harm that spending the night here did." Even though it was true, Tony still felt guilty. How many would call Peter a slut and a gold-digger if there actually was some sort of relationship between them? How many had already called him that? Not everybody could just shrug this kind of thing off, Tony knew.

"Touché," Bruce agreed.

Tony put the cup down and looked Bruce in the eye.

"Brucey-bear, tell me honestly: do you think I'm an old creep who's trying to rob a reluctant cradle here? Is it really that stupid that I want to talk to him instead of moving on?"

Thank God Cap or the assassin twins weren't here this morning, or Tony would've swallowed his tongue before saying shit like that out loud (feelings, bleurgh). Bruce was a different matter altogether, though; Bruce was trustworthy.

Bruce took a sip of his herbal tea. His eyes were thoughtful and distant.

"I think you should go for it," he said. "I don't know Peter well either, obviously, but what I saw of his personality yesterday doesn't really fit such an abrupt escape. And you two seemed good for each other, somehow. Did you even notice that he handed you the phone yesterday morning and you took it, just like that? I don't know why you did but it looks like something... worth pursuing. And as for the age difference - well, you are two consenting adults, aren't you? Then it's none of anyone's business how many years there are between your respective ages. Besides, my perspective might be screwed but I think that as long as neither of you is in danger of turning into an 8-foot green rage monster in bed, all other difficulties can surely be overcome."

This deep meaningful talk thingy was starting to get to Tony. It felt icky, much as he was grateful to Bruce for saying all this.

"Thanks," he said and gulped down his coffee.

He had things to do and a guy to talk to.

"Sir, Ms. Potts is calling."

Okay, a girl and a guy.

"Put her through." Better get the yelling over and done with.

"Good luck," Bruce said, snatched a buttered toast from Tony's plate and left.

Smart guy.

"Tony, what were you thinking?"

"Good morning to you too, Peps."

"Why on Earth did you pick up that reporter kid? And I thought you'd turned over a new leaf after Afghanistan, stopped pulling these stunts!"

Using Afghanistan as an argument was a blow below the belt. Tony didn't like that, not even from Pepper.

"And a guy! Were women not scandalous enough? I get that you didn't want to be at that gala but this, this is a PR nightmare! The SI stocks have dropped point five per cent this morning, who knows how far they will drop when pictures of you dick start circulating in the Internet - again! Maybe—"

She stopped herself, evidently before saying something more scathing than she thought acceptable. What she had said was more than enough to make Tony feel raw, though.

"Don't you think there'd be pictures already if he took them? And excuse me, am I supposed to become a eunuch because I was kidnapped? In case you forgot, it was my heart they fucked up, not my cock!"

"He is twenty years old," Pepper said incredulously. "Couldn't you have at least found someone closer to your age?"

"I am forever young," Tony said. "Besides, we're two consenting adults. If somebody out there has a problem with it, they can stuff it up their butt for all I care."

Now that wasn't nice, but Tony didn't much feel like nice. As pissed off as Pepper was, her mood wasn't half as foul as Tony's - he was the one who got ditched and chewed out afterwards.

"If that's your official stance on the issue," Pepper said. She suddenly looked tired, too tired to deal with Tony having casual sex with pretty youngsters.

"It is," he said. He should make it up to Pepper. Flowers, maybe? Shoes? Not strawberries, though. He remembered that there was something wrong with strawberries.

 

"I will keep it in mind," Pepper said and hung up.

 

Great.

 

Now, though, he really had things to do and a guy to talk to.

 

* * *

 

The Audi was shining in the midday sun. The rays of light glinted off the polished hood and hit the lenses of Tony's sunglasses.

The car was the most inconspicuous one in his garage, and, in addition to the sunglasses, Tony had pulled out of his wardrobe the most nondescript jeans and hoodie he had. Not that it helped much in the not getting recognized department. He had been waiting only for a couple of minutes but the students pouring out of the building were already glancing at him, whispering to each other and trying to take a picture of him in what they thought was a stealthy manner. It had never bothered Tony until now, when he imagined Peter next to himself, trying to turn away from the cameras, tense and unhappy.

Maybe Tony should have called instead of coming to the university in person.

Before he could overthink the whole thing and turn tail, Peter came out. It was too late to retreat now, wasn't it?

Unlike his classmates, Peter didn't even notice him, nose buried in a book so deeply it was a wonder how the kid didn't stumble and fall off the stairs leading down from the front door.

"Hey," Tony called.

Peter jerked his head up, startled, and his mouth opened in a silent 'Oh' when he saw Tony.

"Got any plans for lunch?" Tony asked.

Peter came up and stood in front of Tony - very, very close which Tony took as a good sign. Peter didn't look too good today: his eyes were red and his nose seemed sore. He was about to say something when he suddenly scrunched up his face and sneezed into a tissue.

"Sorry," Peter mumbled. "I got a cold."

"Happens to the best of us. So, that lunch?"

Peter looked at him wide-eyed, as if he'd been expecting something more ominous than a lunch invitation, or maybe as if he thought a lunch invitation was plenty ominous already, and then noticed people staring at them unabashedly.

"Uhm, no, no plans so far. If you want to, let's go someplace private?"

"Works for me," Tony said.

Once in the car, Tony instructed Happy to bring them to a modest Chinese place on the other side of the city, and the awkward silence descended.

"So," Peter said, and it was even more awkward than the silence. "Surprising to see you at the ESU. Come to the campus often?"

"Not really. Came to see you." Tony took off his sunglasses and fiddled with them for the lack of something to do with his hands. He hadn't felt this nervous since he'd been seventeen and doing his very first tequila shot off of a stripper's body.

"Me? That's... that's cool. How did you know when and where my classes were?"

"Do you want to be creeped out?"

"...No?"

"Then don't ask."

Peter chuckled. Tony looked at him - Peter was biting his lips to hide a smile.

"So, I was thinking of getting to the elephant in the room when you're full of sweet and sour pork and less on guard but it's been blowing its trunk non-stop since we got into the car, so here we are: why did you scram like that the other night?"

Peter fidgeted and blew his nose with a visible effort.

"I felt I was coming down with something," he said at last. "I thought I'd better go home and have some chicken soup there."

"You could have had that at my place."

"I have an aunt," Peter said. "She's my only family and she'd worry if I stayed somewhere overnight and ill."

It was a feeble excuse if Tony ever heard one but he didn't push further on that front. Peter did look ill, after all.

"Why didn't you tell me - or Jarvis, you could tell Jarvis, it's pretty much like telling me - that you weren't feeling well and wanted to go home? Were you afraid Bruce would hulk out to keep you in the tower or something?"

"Ha, very funny. Look, I don't know why I didn't tell you. Now that I'm thinking about it, I left like a jerk. I'm sorry. But, I guess, I didn't think you'd care to know?"

Tony didn't say anything to that, and Peter went on talking, getting more nervous by the second.

"Not that you're not a caring person cause I think you are, if you weren't, you wouldn't be saving the world every other week and pay the bills for the damages supervillains did, right? It's just that, I mean, I didn't think you'd care about me specifically, I mean when we met I wasn't producing gallons of snot every hour, and then I was, and it's gross, ugh, so I thought I'd go home and wallow in my snotty misery on my own, like, would you even want to bring me chicken soup? It's what couples do, the soup, and the fresh tissues, and the cuddling despite the gross, and we aren't a couple... aren't we? Oh God, let's pretend I didn't just say that, I'm a first class moron—"

Tony refrained from shutting Peter up with a kiss - it was a romantic idea but he'd probably get sick too, and then it'd be double gross all around - and just stuck a fresh tissue over Peter's mouth.

Peter stopped talking and looked at Tony. His eyes were slightly feverish but completely lucid and - hopeful, maybe?

"It's not like I'd be cooking any soup myself," Tony said. "I burn water, you don't want soup of my making, trust me. I'd order some and a minion would bring it up and you'd eat it. And tissues aren't a problem. I can get you so many tissues, every horizontal surface would be covered with tissue boxes. It'd be hard to walk but I could fly, a great idea, in fact, a perfect excuse to fly around the living-room - Jarvis always says something boring about safety protocols when I try. You should come produce snot in my tower so I could fly."

Peter put his hand over Tony's and gently freed his mouth.

"You have minions? Can superheroes have minions? I thought it was only for villains," Peter wondered. "Does it violate a hero union charter or something?"

"Minions, couriers - semantics," Tony waved the dilemma off. "So?"

"So what?"

"Don't be daft, I know for a fact you aren't daft. I saw you in the lab, you can't play the 'I got no idea what you're talking about' card with me."

Peter squeezed Tony's hand in his and grinned.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay what?"

"Don't be daft."

The germs be damned, Tony decided and kissed Peter.

It was as nice as he remembered even if Peter's lips were drier now and Peter smelled like cherry lozenges. It was so nice that Peter got pulled into Tony's lap and hands started wandering under shirts. Tony missed the car pulling up, and Happy's delicate cough registered as a background noise. Peter heard it, though, and scrambled off of Tony, his lips bright and wet and his face flushed.

"We planned on lunch?" He said. "With, like, food?"

"What about whipped cream from my naked body?" Tony grinned.

"Gotta eat my greens before dessert," Peter grinned back.

Walking to the restaurant door with his hand brushing Peter's, Tony couldn't help but wonder why it all seemed so perfect. Whenever he saw Peter, they clicked; joking, tinkering, fucking, everything was easy with him. Was it because Peter was young and full of energy, or because he was implementing an evil master plan including hypnosis and suggestive powers of some sort, or because Peter was just Peter and they fit each other? The (well-hidden) sappy part of Tony liked to think it was the third one. If asked, Pepper would probably have voted for the first and the assassin twins - for the second.

Then again, who the hell was asking them? Nobody, that's who.

"I've got tell you, though: you still have a chance to get away."

Peter caught a dumpling between his chopsticks and dunked it in soy sauce.

"Away?"

"I mean, it's not like being seen with me is easy on anyone's nerves. There's no privacy around me. They'll take photos of you, try to dig out anything on you, including the way you pissed in your onesie when you were a year old, discuss you everywhere. Sudden friends popping up who you don't even remember, sudden enemies who are either jealous or - you know, they will all be jealous one way or another. So you get to back out and never see me again. And stay on your preferable end of a camera."

Peter stuffed three dumplings into his mouth at once and busied himself with chewing them without losing any. Tony used the moment of distraction to steal one from Peter's plate and eat it smugly under Peter's glare.

"I got nothing to hide," Peter said when he was done. His hand shot forward, lightning fast, and got away with the loot - a piece of Tony's kung pao chicken. "Nothing that those bozos, my colleagues, would find, uh, interesting, anyway."

"Besides," he added, and Tony didn't like the way his eyes sparkled - well, he kind of really liked it, even red and tired as they were, but it was still way too sinister for his tastes, "if we go out and I have to appear in pictures with you, you have to meet my aunt May."

"Bring it on," Tony said with a lot of confidence he didn't feel. "I'm the aunt charmer. Hoards of aunts have been known to fall victim to my dazzling smile. Just you wait, she'll be talking weddings as soon as I meet her. Maybe she'll get to talking to Bruce about it and they'll be Bridezillas together. Can you be a Bridezilla if you aren't the one getting married? I bet the Hulk can."

"You're so full of bullshit." Peter laughed and sneezed at the same time.

"Yet here you are, agreeing to date me in spite of it."

"Who says I'm not doing that because of it?"

* * *

They parted after lunch. Tony would love to go back to the tower and join Bruce in the lab but he'd promised Pepper he'd be at the shareholders meeting this week, and if he wanted the full might of SI marketing resources behind him, it was wise to keep on Pepper's good aide. Or, considering their talk this morning, at least look at that side from a respectable distance.

Why was everyone so hung up on the age, anyway? It wasn't like Peter was in high school or something.

Tony wondered if the aunt who'd raised Peter would see it the same way. They hadn't agreed on a date for a dinner or anything - the meeting was more like an idle threat hanging in the air, same as Tony's promise to take Peter with him to a Christmas party at the mayor's, uncomfortable black tie and tiny dry caviar tarts featured as the highlights of the evening's entertainment.

Christmas was far away, and the esteemed aunt didn't need to meet her little nephew's forty-something seducer just yet.

They'd see how it goes.

Tony pushed the thoughts of Peter to the back of his mind as he walked into the room. The shareholders needed the sleazy salesman charm and country fair magician flair, not whatever it was he felt when he thought of Peter.

Pepper was here too, of course. She was watching him as he came in and he was ready to swear that she knew how his lunch had gone and disapproved of that. Maybe there already were pictures of Peter and him leaving the campus together and the SI marketing team found them just before the meeting.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." Tony turned the smile on, ignoring Pepper's accusing stare. There would be time to reiterate that Peter's age was no one's business later.

"Good to see you, Mr. Stark," said one of the shareholders. Tony didn't remember him. Was he new? "They say you don't always show up at these meetings."

"Only if I'm too busy inventing the next breathtaking piece of technology that will bring SI loads of profit, Mr...?" Tony gave him the sleeziest smile in his repertoire.

"How nice to hear that," the shareholder said. "I imagine, though, in the future you will have other reasons to miss shareholders meetings. Every single one of them."

Now if that didn't sound ominous, Tony didn't know what did. Before he could react properly, though, the guy whipped out from under his jacket a small orange bomb shaped like a Jack-o'-lantern and threw it right at Tony.

As the bomb detonated half-way to him and the hot, solid wave of air pushed him back into the floor-to-ceiling windows, Tony thought of a couple of things: one, he should have skipped the fucking meeting after all, two, he didn't have the bracelets on, and three, the suit briefcase was in the car which was going back to the ESU right now, delivering Peter to his afternoon classes.

It was about thirty stories down. Not as far as his last defenestration (what was it with him and windows? He should live and work in a basement with no sunlight, it'd save him so much trouble), but still enough to only leave a splat with a goatee on the sidewalk.

A thin something caught him around the arms and torso; his fall broke and the air was completely knocked out of him. Before he could get a whiplash or something, though, there was a sensation of a pattern splashing across his back and another - across his thighs. He stopped falling completely, suspended in the air three feet from the pavement in a really undignified position, covered in - were these spider-webs?

"Alright there, Mr. Stark?" Spider-Man shouted from where he was stuck to the wall of the building, holding several web lines in his hand - holding Tony.

"Peachy!" Tony shouted back. "Now, if you could just get this stuff off me..."

"In a minute!"

Spider-man let the webs go - ouch! - and did a handstand on the wall, stretching his body parallel to the ground and kicking away another bomb. It went off in the air high above the road, where it was safe. Well, relatively so: a few metal and plastic pieces rained down on Tony and got tangled in his hair.

Spider-man jumped down from a height that would probably still leave Tony splat and tore the webs off. Tony scrambled to his feet and looked around, evaluating the potential cover places.

Spider-man tossed him a very familiar briefcase.

"I'd tip you for speedy delivery but I got no cash on me." Tony pressed the activation button.

The armor unfurled, sweeping all over his body. Its cool, smooth feel wasn't as good as when he wore the armor over the undersuit but it was comforting nonetheless.

Spider-man didn't say anything to that but Tony didn't have time to coax him into talking, even if he did have a few questions for the web-slinger. Tony took off, leaving two foot-shaped melted prints in the pavement: Pepper and a bunch of presumably innocent shareholders were in the room with a bomber.

The dust and smoke were clouding the room but with the wind blowing inside freely the visibility was getting better by the moment.

"Pepper!" Tony called. The armor was scanning for people, registering twelve living thermal signatures.

Four Jack-o'-lantern bombs flew right into his face. The armor absorbed most of the explosion but he was thrown back again.

"Still alive, Stark?" The bomber called out. He sounded slightly hysterical. "Die, dammit!"

Three more bombs came out and Tony pulverized them before they went off. Just how many explosives had this guy managed to get past the security? Tony remembered the bomber looking big, with a beer belly; maybe it wasn't all beer after all.

"Pepper!" He called again.

He'd have flown in, repulsors, grenades and sonic blasts at the ready, but the conference room was too small to risk it. Iron Man armor had any number of advantages but it was not very good for fighting in close quarters and in a hostage kind of situation.

"'M fine," he heard Pepper yell from the back of the room, and then she coughed.

She was alive. Tony let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"I'll kill her!" The bomber's voice was choked, as if he was struggling with some emotion. "Either you kill yourself, or I kill her!"

Tony could see fine now: the bomber had Pepper in a chokehold with one hand and was pressing another bomb to her chest with another. It rested in the open V-neck of her blouse, just below her throat.

Shareholders - the real ones - were moaning and cursing by the walls, where the shock of the explosion had thrown them. Tony barely heard them through the rush of blood in her ears.

"What did I ever do to you? Can't we talk it out or something?"

"Nothing to talk about," the bomber was looking at Tony with crazy eyes. There was no reasoning with him; or if there was, Tony had no patience for it. Not when Pepper's life was threatened. "He said you must die or my family dies. So I have to kill you. Open that armor and fall! Now!"

"He? Who - he?"

"Open the armor!"

Tony hesitated. The bomber watched him as Tony watched Pepper's face - covered in soot and dust, with a couple of streaks of dried blood from where she was cut by debris. She looked scared, and Tony was so sorry that his superheroing business brought them to this point, that she had to suffer when they weren't even together anymore, that because of him she was hurt again.

How could he ask Peter to get involved with all this? He had never even mentioned it, never thought of it, like he'd blocked it out - the fact that Tony's enemies of whom he had plenty would be out for Peter's blood simply to upset Stark or Iron Man or both. He had talked about the fucking publicity like it was the most dangerous thing out there, but it wasn't, was it?

He was so preoccupied with trying to figure out what to do that he didn't notice Spider-man slipping silently in along the ceiling until a barrage of webs hit the bomber.

One - the bomb was jerked put of his hand. Two - the web on his shoulder sent him reeling, forcing him to let go of Pepper. Three - a solid wall of webs covered his torso, weirdly reminding Tony of how bread wrapped around meat and vegetables to make shawarma.

"Good work," Tony said. He couldn't help but be impressed, especially considering that Spider-man’s agility saved Pepper and ten other people who might not have survived another explosion so close to them. And for this he was even ready to forgive Spider-man for their weird meeting by the roof of Stark tower.

Spider-man saluted him without saying a word and backflipped out of the window.

So that was what it was like - the clean-up was Tony's problem. He supposed it was fair since Spider-man had done most of the heavy lifting this time around.

And why wouldn't he talk to Tony unless it was absolutely necessary? Was Tony being snubbed by a guy in a skin-tight spandex suit? Well, if that was the case, then it was just a cherry on top.

Police sirens blared far below. Tony sighed and lifted the faceplate to deal with the inevitable blah-blah part.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter got to the car before Tony did: he'd had to retrieve the camera from where he'd webbed it to the wall and change but it was quick work.

As he sat in the car, blowing his nose from time to time, he mused that agreeing to date Tony was very possibly the stupidest decision he had ever made - and he'd done some pretty idiotic stuff both before and after getting bitten by a radioactive genetically engineered spider.

Would the Goblin (and it was the Goblin, Peter was sure) have made a move at all if Peter'd said no to Tony's offer to date? Maybe he'd have backed off if he'd seen Peter losing interest in Tony. Now it was too late, though: the Goblin had undoubtedly been watching. And Tony would have been dead already if it weren't for Peter's paranoia which had made him convince Happy the driver to turn around to give Tony his forgotten briefcase suit.

Peter looked through the photos the camera had made this afternoon. It would be tough to explain to Tony how he got these shots when he'd allegedly been nowhere near the fight. Peter imagined Tony's quizzical look and a tablet in his hand, the Bugle website with these pictures on the homepage opened in the browser. Maybe Tony wouldn't pay much attention to it, though. There'd been a lot going on at the moment, Tony could have easily missed Peter slinking in the shadows and snapping pictures without the flash.

Peter mulled over the other complications that naturally arose from their dating, say, the lack of privacy mentioned by Tony (which really was no life-or-death issue for Peter Parker but made Spider-man cringe), the whole unwholesome idea of basing a potential relationship on blatant lies, and some more.

It was too late to get both himself and Tony out of it by severing all contact, though. If anything, today proved to Peter that he had to stay nearby - and also had to sit on Tony, if that was what it took to make him take his own safety more seriously. Maybe Peter could recruit Bruce to this cause, too.

He'd typed up most of the introduction to his term paper by the time Tony flew back. Peter got out of the car and watched the armor fall away from Tony, each shiny piece in perfect sync with the other pieces like there was some music they were following. Knowing Tony, there might very well have been.

"Hey," Tony said.

"Hey yourself. I see Spider-man got to you with the armor. I was partly afraid he'd make off with it or something," Peter joked.

"Yeah, he did. He's a weirdo but he saved my life, I guess." Tony shrugged. It didn't look like he was in the mood to joke about Spider-man. "Listen, we need to talk. Argh, I can't believe I just said that. I sound like a cliche from a chick-flick."

"Wait, are you about to break up with me?" That was something Peter hadn't expected.

"We haven't been to a single date, does that count?"

"Why? Are you mad I gave your armor to a suspicious guy in a skintight suit? Or have you decided to get back with Ms. Potts?"

"No and no. And do I really need a reason to dump you?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

Peter had never been able to do that - raise just one of them. When he tried, the second one came up immediately as well, or he had to scrunch up his eye to make it stay in place and then he just looked stupid instead of elegantly sarcastic. Not even getting spider superpowers gave him that ability; perhaps it was because spiders didn't have eyebrows.

Why was he thinking about eyebrows when the conversation was getting horribly out of hand?

"You do," Peter said, coming up close enough to feel the coolness of the armor's metal through his shirt. "And it better be a really good one."

He put his hand on Tony's shoulder. He was actually taller than Tony but now, with the armor, he had to look up a bit to look Tony in the eye.

Tony covered Peter's hand with his own. The repulsor was warm, smooth like glass against Peter's skin; Tony's metal fingers felt heavy.

"If we go on, you're gonna get hurt." Tony said. He looked uncomfortable saying it and Peter had no idea why exactly. There were possible reasons but catching up with Tony's thought processes was like running a marathon at a 100-meter race speed.

Peter snorted. It was just hilarious on so many levels, he couldn't help himself, even if he couldn't explain the whole joke to Tony.

"What's so funny?"

"Have you forgotten what I do for a living?" Peter asked and demonstrated Tony a few pictures he'd taken today. "I got to today's fight, even though I was a bit late. I've been hanging around Spider-man for many months. I could have been killed dozens of times. And you're telling me dating you is dangerous? Tell me something I don't know! If you can't, then I'm picking you up for a date tonight at seven."

The speech was a bit spoiled where he sneezed twice while saying key points, but Tony seemed suitably thoughtful afterwards nonetheless.

"You're suicidal," he said.

"Maybe. Just a bit, though. So what? Like you're any better."

"Fair enough."

* * *

 

Now, taking Tony Stark out on a date on a college student slash freelancing photographer budget was a tricky thing. There was literally no properly upscale restaurant cheap enough that Peter could afford, not unless he robbed a bank, and that was a line he was unwilling to cross, you know.

Granted, Tony would also know all that and not expect anything breathtaking from Peter - just an evening of talking and simple decent food, maybe. Tony wasn't a snob, as far as Peter knew.

But it was so boring. Staying in at the tower, tinkering in Tony's lab and having Chinese takeaway in between kisses - that would be more interesting than just sitting somewhere and asking each other what their favorite colors were. No one stayed in on a first date, though; it was something established couples did. And Peter did say he'd pick Tony up, not come in and invite Tony to the latter's own lab.

If only Tony knew Peter's secret identity (or, rather, his public one, cause one can't have two secret identities, right? What would be left of one then?), Peter could take him swinging across New-York. He bet Tony would love it and maybe start making up ways to have sex mid-swing or something.

However: no, no and no.

Peter hid his phone under the table so as not to irritate the professor and googled "creative ideas for a first date". Come on, collective mind of the web, there must be something.

The collective mind offered Peter - besides recommendations not to overdo the creativity and go to a bar or a cafe - to find a cooking class, go for a hike, visit a psychic, do a dance class, a painting class (what was it with these people and learning while on a date? Maybe he should just sneak Tony in on an evening lecture here at the ESU, and voila, Tony is swept off his feet) and bowling. That last one was not bad but still... mundane.

Maybe he shouldn't pin the whole evening on just one place or activity. He should try and fit in a couple of things at once. It was surely the way to impress Tony, and Peter did want to impress, if not with the amount of money he could afford to throw at one night's entertainment, then with thoughtfulness.

After all, the date wasn't really about staying close to Tony for the latter's protection. Not even if Peter would like it to be so.

* * *

"Do I need to do the I-have-a-shotgun-and-you-better-bring-my-baby-back-by-ten talk with you?"

Peter gulped. He knew Hawkeye was joking but it was still kind of intimidating. Just Peter's luck that Hawkeye and the Black Widow were back from their top secret mission today.

"I thought you had a bow?" Peter said.

"Shotgun is classic," Hawkeye shrugged. "Soooo... what are your intentions towards our Tony?"

"Stop scaring the kid, Clint," the Black Widow said. "Tony wouldn't like to find his date unconscious from an interrogation, would he?"

"It takes more than talk to make me faint," Peter retorted.

He prohibited himself to think about what had happened when he hadn't listened to a father. This was neither the time, nor the place. Not to mention that Hawkeye definitely wasn't Tony's dad.

"Tough one, aren't ya?" Hawkeye smirked at him.

"Leave Peter alone, guys," Bruce said without looking up from his tablet. "Hey, Peter, while Jarvis is kicking Tony out of the lab, do you want to take a look at these schematics? There's something I don't like about this one but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Unlike the others, Bruce was easy. If asked, Peter wouldn't have said he expected that but talking to Bruce was a breath of fresh air next to Hawkeye and Black Widow's effortless smiles and cold appraising looks (they were agents, they might very well see right through Peter) and Captain's distant politeness (seriously, was it the gay thing?). Bruce was calm and seemingly glad to see Peter and didn't make any jokes (which was real nice of him since Peter was already a nervous wreck) and didn't even mention Peter legging it without a word the other day.

And he'd offered to talk science. If Peter still had any choice in the matter, he'd decide to become Bruce Banner when he grew up.

Tony came down soon. Despite being engrossed in the specs on the screen, Peter noticed him immediately; no matter how interesting the science was, it was impossible to not pay attention to Tony's easy stride and bright smile the way it would be impossible to ignore a fire in your room, no matter how busy you were with other things.

"Hands off, Bruce, he's my date," Tony called out, stopping in front of them.

"Since you ask, I will graciously agree to keep my hands to myself and not ravish him right here on the couch," Bruce replied wryly.

"I knew you were a true friend." Tony beamed and pulled Peter up by the hand. The movement didn't stop once Peter was on his feet but went on until they were flush against each other and Tony cradled the back of Peter's head with his free hand to make him lean down for a kiss.

Peter obliged; it felt like it'd been a long time since they last kissed, even if it was only a few hours. Tony's lips were still as soft and skillful as he remembered, the beard a delicious scratch against Peter's own smoothly shaved face. It was so lovely that Peter let himself get lost in the sensation for a moment, forgetting there were other Avengers around.

He couldn't really remember what Gwen's kisses had been like, not anymore. He knew, intellectually, that they had been more gentle, less passionate, with the chemical-candy-aftertaste of her lip gloss, all soft skin (so breakable) and pretty girly smells, but the visceral, sensual memory was gone. He didn't know if the loss of this memory hurt him more or less than its presence used to.

Whichever way was right, he was kissing Tony now and these kisses made his whole body tingle with anticipation and desire and sheer excitement.

He didn't want it to end.

"Get a room!" A pillow thrown by Hawkeye with the same precision that he employed with his arrows hit Tony and Peter on the sides of their heads. "You've got a whole tower, use it, geeze."

"Jealous of my hot date?" Peter blurted out. Tony said the exact same thing at the same time, and they started giggling, giddy and smug like middle-schoolers after a successful prank, still leaning on each other.

"Go away, you two. Shoo," Hawkeye grumbled. "One Stark is more than enough, but now there are two, and they are dating. God help us."

They left the tower, still laughing. In the lift Peter found Tony's hand and squeezed and didn't let go; neither did Tony.

* * *

"This is your idea of a good time?" Tony squinted at the sea of people in the Brooklyn Bazaar. "I must say, it's the first time I've ever had a date in a warehouse."

"It's been redecorated, you killjoy. Don't you want to stuff yourself on cotton candy and buy something crafty to hang it in the common living-room in order to annoy everyone with a lick of aesthetic sense?"

"That does sound good," Tony admitted. "Can I take some of that cotton candy home and eat it off of you?"

"That's gross. And hot. Hot, but gross," Peter said. "By the way, I bet I'll beat you in ping-pong."

"Oh, you're so on," Tony grinned. "What are we betting on?"

"The loser makes the other one come twice tonight without coming himself?" The tips of Peter's ears got hot as he said that. Why did he even say it out loud? It was too late to take it back, though, and Tony's eyes grew dangerous and dark, so maybe it wasn't the stupidest thing he ever said.

"At all? I must say, I didn't suspect how kinky you were. But yet hope may be there for you, young padavan."

"Why at all? I'm kinky, not cruel. When I'm done with my two orgasms, I'm totally letting you come," Peter shot back.

A kiss took him unawares but he responded to it instantly anyway. He was getting used to them. This one was filthy and predatory and held a promise of a very interesting night later on. It left Peter breathless and half-hard and he suddenly doubted that his Spider-man powers would let him win easily (it's not cheating if you can't turn it off, is it?) against Tony.

"You're on," Tony repeated, grinning. "Now, where are those ping-pong tables?"

On their way to the ping-pong tables they got derailed. There were just too many colorful artisan stalls with the weirdest things sold in them, and they did meet a cotton candy seller. Tony got a cone of the white kind bigger than his head and let Peter have some. Peter got them both sodas and beers and washing cotton candy down with beer had to be one of the strangest things he'd ever tasted.

It was all hopelessly juvenile, and from time to time Peter found it hard to believe that Tony Stark - one of the top ten richest and top ten smartest and top ten desirable people on the planet - was here with him, Peter Parker, who never amounted to anything much unless he wore a red spandex mask. He could only guess that, in spite of all that, Tony liked juvenile, at least once in a while. He'd hardly be here, putting all of his concentration in throwing rings over white kegs to win a lopsided teddy bear, if he didn't, right?

They were in the line for a ping-pong table, talking, exchanging fertive touches to relatively innocent spots on each other's bodies - an arm, a cheek, waist, finishing the candy, when there was a thud and a scream.

Without a thought, Peter elbowed his way through the crowd that seemed to be going in the opposite direction. Tony was right next to him, a silent determined presence in the midst of anxious urgent talking, shouting, high-pitched squealing and echoing growls.

"What is he supposed to be?" Tony asked out loud when they saw it, tearing apart the stage where a jazz band had been playing something cheerful a few minutes ago.

"I thought it was still a long time before Halloween," Peter agreed.

The stage fell through under the weight of its assailant, and he kicked pieces of it away like they were paperballs. Peter's hands itched to web them mid-flight and stop them from hurting someone but he couldn't. Not in plain view of everyone and their mother.

"I am Grizzly!" The guy roared. He looked like your stereotypical redneck from a cheap movie... in a huge metal bear suit.

"Grizzly, Rhino," Peter murmured. "What is it, a zoo? Will there be a giraffe next?"

He bit his tongue, realizing too late that it was too much like something Spider-man would say. Tony didn't seem to pay attention, though, stepping in front of Peter and shielding him from Grizzly.

"Get to safety," Tony said. "Yourself and this bazillion of people high on cotton candy. I'll take care of this circus runaway."

"Are you impervious to blows on Saturdays or what? That suit must pack a punch."

"Got my homing bracelets with me." Tony flashed Peter a grin and kissed him briefly, one hand on Peter's cheek. The cool metal of the bracelet felt nice against Peter's flushed skin. "The armor will be here soon. Now get them all out of here before they become collateral damage."

It was a reasonable suggestion, albeit phrased like an order. Peter reminded himself that he was only Peter at the moment and that Tony had fought worse enemies than a thug in a bear-shaped metal can and got to herding people away from the Grizzly guy and towards the exit.

As soon as everyone - as far as Peter could see - was out of danger, he changed (it paid to keep his costume rolled up on the bottom of his backpack at all times) and sneaked back in. He webbed his camera to the wall, mostly out of habit, and stuck to the ceiling, watching Iron Man fight Grizzly.

It was obviously not a fair fight. As far as metal suits went, there were none as good as Tony's. The bear one was a state of the art piece of engineering - setting aside the fact that it was ugly as hell and the color of the contents of a diaper - but no Iron Man. Its only advantage was its bigger weight; but to use it, Grizzly needed to catch Iron Man first. Were bears in nature any good at catching birds? Even if they were, the metal ones were pathetic at it.

 

The only reason Peter could see why Iron Man wasn't done yet was because Tony wanted to know where that guy came from.

 

"So, what's the name of your tailor? I wanna know so I make sure to never visit him." Tony blasted a stall hurled at him before it could even get close. It broke into a shower of sharp splinters. "Animal theme is so two weeks ago."

 

Grizzly growled at him. A dreamcatcher was stuck on one of the suit's ears.

 

"Wouldn't ya like to know!"

 

A twin blast from shoulder guns went for Tony but Tony clapped his gloves and Peter cringed: the wall of distorted, heavy sound that exploded from clapping did something weird to his insides and ringed through his head like a migraine. If he was holding onto the ceiling instead of sticking to it, he would have lost his grip. It looked like spiders didn't like sonic attacks too much.

 

The missiles clattered to the floor. Grizzly looked unaffected, though; only more pissed off than before that.

 

"What are you even doing here?" Tony wondered. A well-timed series of repulsor blasts left two smoking holes on Grizzly's shoulder where the guns used to be. "Don't you have anything better to do? Is crashing a party your only chance at a party?"

 

"I'm here to crush you!"

 

Tony flew up and away from the barrage of items Grizzly sent up relentlessly.

 

"Me? I'd say I'm flattered, but I'm actually a little insulted here. Did your employer really think you'd be enough to take me down?"

 

"You weren't supposed to have the suit with you!" Grizzly accused him.

 

Peter stifled a snort but Tony had no need to stay unnoticed and therefore laughed out loud.

 

"Oh, so it's my fault for being awesome?" Tony clapped at the missiles - this time shot from a waist guns and knee guns - and Peter pressed closer to the ceiling, feeling cold sweat breaking out on his face. The cotton candy and bile rolled up to his throat. If Tony did that one more time, Peter was going to a) fall; b) barf (multiple choice, tick the relevant replies at your leisure). Peter sincerely hoped that Tony would feel like diversifying and find something else to parry missiles with.

 

"He said you'd be on a date! What kind of sick fuck brings armor to a date?" Grizzly seemed genuinely angry on Peter's - or, rather, Tony's faceless and nameless date's behalf. Peter had to bite his knuckles not to speak out and say that there were some other sick fucks who really liked armors, date or no date, and that if Grizzly didn't think of that, no wonder _he_ couldn't have found a date for tonight.

 

"My date didn't mind," Tony said, sending Grizzly flat on his ass with a tiny grenade that went off next to his legs. "Well... since I've got the armor after all you might as well surrender and tell me all about the mysterious 'he' who knew exactly where I'd be tonight."

 

"I thought you'd be without a suit but he told me ya could show up in it anyway, so I'm still ready," Grizzly grinned. His face behind his faceplate of bullet-proof glass was bruised and unshaven; Peter would love to say that the guy looked crazy but he seemed completely sane, if not the brightest pea in the pod. He seemed to like this.

 

It never boded well when villains whose ass you were supposedly kicking started liking the situation.

 

Grizzly raised his - well, paws, the palms turned to face Tony. It looked like surrendering to an outsider but Peter, craning his neck, caught the way Grizzly's lips twisted as he bent his fingers and pressed buttons attached to thick coils of wires that shot up from his wrists.

 

Uh-oh.

 

Even if Tony had something in the armor to protect him from EMP-blasts, Peter knew full well that complete protection was unlikely. And whatever Harry - the Goblin, the Goblin, must not forget that - could come up with, using all of OsCorp's resources, was bound to be very, very nasty.

 

Peter pushed himself off of the ceiling and curled himself into a tight ball, hitting Tony on the shoulder with his full weight. Evidently not expecting an attack from the ceiling, Tony went down, veering, reeling, swearing, latching onto Peter in a futile attempt to regain balance; he only managed to slow down a bit before hitting the floor and tumbling on with the push of inertia, all eight of their limbs tangled.

 

The main pulse of Grizzly's blast went overhead. Peter's ear was pressed uncomfortably strongly into Iron Man's stomach and he heard a few circuits sizzle like bacon.

 

"Where the flying fuck did you come out of?!" Tony shoved Peter off - Iron Man shoved Spider-Man off - oh, this was getting confusing. Peter's head was ringing again, in a different way from the sonic-induced ringing, but still not nice, and he wondered, dazed, if he had a concussion from landing head first. He hoped not, otherwise his date would be unequivocally spoiled. As of right now, it was salvageable in his opinion.

 

"You're welcome," Peter rasped. The breath had been knocked out of him when Iron Man landed on his stomach at some point. The armor was sexy (not that the likes of Grizzly were ever able to get it) but god, was it heavy too.

 

"I'd take that blast!"

'Yeah, like a fish would take an oxygen mask,' Peter wanted to say. The wires and lamps on the ceiling which got hit with the worst of the EMP-blast stank horribly of melt plastic and metal. 'Also, don't you want to deal with the Halloween leftover behind you before you start yelling at me?'

He didn't say anything, though, because he remembered again that his voice wasn't masked and speaking would give him away as surely as a striptease. He lifted his hand instead and pointed it past Tony at Grizzly.

Tony took the hint and whirled around, repulsors whining with power. He managed to shoot but Grizzly got a shot in, too, just before the force of the repulsors sent him flying across the room. Peter took it that Tony didn't want to play around with his food anymore; too bad it was too late.

The EMP blast got Tony in the face and chest. Smoke and sparkles shot out from the invisible seams between armor plates. Tony stood very still, like a statue, and the eyeslit of his helmet was dark.

Could he even breathe inside the suit if all systems were down?

"Gotcha," Grizzly said, smug, and started coming over to Tony.

He didn't even seem to take Peter into account which was, to be honest, a little offensive. And also a little justified because that suit was so much stronger than Peter.

Strength wasn't the only thing that mattered, though.

Peter's webshooters weren't fried - they weren't electronic. He slapped two thick lines of webbing around Grizzly's ankles and pulled; he heard a few new swear words as Grizzly went down, flat on his back.

He slapped more webbing over Grizzly who was trying on to get up in the same awkward way turtles do. The bear suit was not flexible enough to get back to his feet unless he rolled over to his side or front. Peter stuck Grizzly's waving arms to the floor, bound his legs and all but poured the webs all over the face and the torso. However tensile, the webbing could give out if Grizzly really tried to tear it off - and he certainly sounded angry enough to put in his best effort. But Peter had a bit of time now.

He somersaulted over to Tony because it was faster than walking and straightened himself up by grabbing Tony's shoulders. The unresponsive armor was cold under his hands. Was Tony still alive in there?

Peter pushed the tips of his fingers into the eyeslit and yanked with all the strength he had and then some; he knew he could shred a plate of solid steel into thin strips because he'd done that, wondering about the limits of his power, but after that his overexerted fingers hurt for at least half an hour. Whatever Tony's suit had been made of, it was better than steel. It didn't want to budge.

Peter wrenched the faceplate again, and his fingers weren't hurting anymore, they were numb from the tension, and he was ready to cry in frustration and fear - be alive, Tony, please, please be alive under there - and then it gave way.

Screeching and groaning, the metal was pulled apart, like a weird flower blooming slowly. It revealed Tony's face, pale and irritated but unmistakably, gloriously alive.

"Do you have a phone?" Tony asked.

Peter did, but it was Peter's, not Spider-man's, so he shook his head.

"How do you not have a phone? Everyone has a phone these days. Have you come to America from a secret Tibetan monastery where they prohibited all technology?"

Peter did his best to convey an annoyed frown via the lenses of his mask.

"Fine, do not tell me. I wonder, though, why won't you talk to me? It's totally convenient right now cause if you talked, you'd probable say that you told me so and I hate when people say that. Still - have I forgotten your birthday or something?"

Peter raised his hand in the universal 'wait here' gesture and swung out the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Tony called after him. "Don't tell me it is about your birthday! Hey, you could take your revenge by destroying my suit! I need to get out of it anyway, so it's a win-win, what do you say?"

Peter had thought of breaking off the rest of Tony's suit but just bending the faceplate took too much out of him. His fingers, wrists, biceps, even shoulder blades were aching somewhat fierce as if he'd overdone it during a workout. Considering that he could catch a car thrown at him by an enraged villain without breaking a sweat, it meant that peeling Tony out of the rest of his armor by hand was out of the question.

He came back after waiting outside for half a minute and offered Tony his phone.

"Did you borrow that from Peter Parker?" Tony caught on instantly. Trust him to recognize a mass-market piece of technology he'd only seen a couple of times in passing, Peter thought fondly. "Is he okay?"

Peter nodded. His head wasn't ringing anymore, and once the initial shock of pain had passed, none of his injuries seemed to be more serious that a bruise or a scrape. In fact, with his healing factor most of them may be gone before he went to bed tonight, like his cold had disappeared a couple of hours before the date.

"Good," Tony smiled. "Now, Spider-guy, dial my tower for me. Here's the number..."

Peter obediently dialed, all the while keeping an ear out for the sounds of Grizzly struggling with the webs - he didn't seem to be able to get a good angle for actually ripping them off but it was likely only a question of time - and police sirens. He slipped his hand inside the ruined helmet to press the phone to Tony's ear. They stood so very close like this and Peter wanted to kiss Tony like crazy.

Suddenly, he ached to be Peter Parker again.

"You think you could knock that guy out?" Tony asked when he was done talking and nodded at the growling Grizzly. "I don't fancy a bear hug from him until another suit arrives."

By that time Grizzly had managed to partially free one arm and was now enthusiastically ripping the webs from the other one.

Peter hopped onto the remains of the stage, picked up the piano (it was pretty much ruined anyway, he told to his conscience) and dropped it over Grizzly. The remaining keys squeaked and groaned a brief cacophonous melody, and then it was all quiet.

"If I could, I'd applaud you now," Tony announced. "Can you do an anvil too? Is there an anvil nearby? I always wanted to see the anvil one in real life."

Peter grinned at him, even though it was probably completely obscured by the mask, and turned his back to Grizzly. A metal-glad hand shot up from under the remains of the piano - Peter's instincts flared up, warning him about danger too late, like a car alarm going off when thieves were already taking off - and caught his ankle in an iron grip.

"Hey, take the paw off him! Bears don't eat spiders, didn't you get that memo in the sixth grade?" Tony commented. "Jarvis, be a dear, help out the skinny guy in a unitard over there?"

A repulsor blast from up close made Grizzly howl in pain as the metal melted into his forearm; his grip slackened and Peter rolled away, grimacing at the pain and the smell of burnt flesh both. He might have a limp after this.

An Iron Man suit was in front of him, hovering in the air with inhuman stillness. So Jarvis could pilot armors, too. Peter let himself spend a few seconds just lying there, taking in the suit whose unapologetically bright red and gold were muted in the semi-darkness, touched by whatever night-life light fell into the windows and the unearthly glow of the repulsors.

It was breathtaking.

"You alright there?" Tony called. "Need any help?"

Peter got up and, continuing the motion, swung himself to the ceiling.

If one of the webs he used to get out of the Bazaar at record speed landed directly on the camera and pulled it along, well, nobody needed to know that.

"One of these days I'm going to save his life instead and leave _him_ with the clean-up," he heard Tony grumbling. "J, get this tin can off of me, would you?"

"Certainly, sir."

* * *

When Peter and Tony were finally free to go, the night wasn't all that young anymore. Talking with the police - for the second time today - took a while. It was also boring, and Peter was fully planning on escaping clean-ups in the future as much as he could.

"Well, looks like you know how to organize a good date after all," Tony said.

"It was a bit more exciting than I thought it'd be," Peter confessed. "I even had something else planned to do after the Bazaar, but that was before a crazy bear dude showed up."

"I wonder who sent him," Tony mused. "Hammer would love to try and nail me with a suit of his making but he'd never go for a bear, not intimidating enough for him... Well, never mind. What did you have planned? Is it too late to go there?"

"Not too late, actually." Peter swallowed a remark that Hammer might not choose a bear design but it fit the Goblin's zoo-influenced MO quite well. "The later the better for this one - that is, unless you mind a bit of criminal activity."

"Criminal activity?" Tony repeated. He looked like he was holding laughter in. "Pray tell, what kind?"

"Nice to know your morals are bendable depending on what kind of crime it is," Peter teased. "What I've got in mind is a little harmless breaking and entering at a public place. You in?"

"Well, since I never reported you for underage drinking I can as well make a step further into the life of crime." Tony gave a fake put-upon sigh.

They caught a quick cab ride to the Hayden Planetarium. Once there, Peter snuck them around to the back of the building and picked the shabby lock. There was really nothing to steal in a planetarium, to be honest; he guessed the administration here knew that too.

"So we broke and entered," Tony said when the door closed behind them. "What do we do now? Please tell me we're going to be naughty. I'm so looking forward to that part of out evening."

"Who says there will be such a part?" Peter took Tony's hand and led him along the dark corridor. "Did you think I'd put out on a first date? I'll have you know I'm not that kind of guy!"

"Well, the evidence would suggest otherwise," Tony pointed out.

"Careful, there are stairs here, we're going up. What evidence? This is our first date," Peter laughed. "And if there was something before it, the point still stands, doesn't it?"

"I should have plied you with more beer at the Bazaar and taken you home to have my wicked way with you," Tony lamented. "Why on Earth didn't I do just that?"

"Wanna bet who would have had his wicked way with whom?"

"You are very mouthy today when it comes to sex," Tony noted. "Are you horny? I heard you youngsters are always horny."

Peter flicked the switch.

The ceiling dome high above them sparked into life. In deep blackness millions of stars were shining, majestic nebulae seemed to float as the camera that had done the recording slid along, suns were ablaze in red and yellow and orange, enormous and so very distant. The cosmos looked down on them, and it was all colors and silence and eternity, and they were so organic and small.

"Let's lie down," Peter offered and pulled an uncharacteristically quiet Tony to the floor.

They stretched side by side, watching the universe turn. Tony's hand found Peter's, and their fingers laced. It felt good, that was what one was supposed to do on a good first date. Or maybe Peter only thought so because the last date he'd been on happened in high school, he didn't know and didn't care. Tony didn't seem to care either.

"So, do I have good date ideas or what?" Peter asked.

"Not too bad for your first attempt," Tony said. "Keep trying, though."

Peter smiled, recognizing it for the 'let's do it again' that it was.

"I thought you'd like it," he said. "I like it too. I first came here on a field trip in the ninth grade and came back several times since."

"I have no idea what I did in the ninth grade. Maybe I skipped it altogether, I skipped some of them."

"I read you went to college at fourteen. Was it hard?"

"Intellectually? No. It was mostly boring. Why didn't you skip any grades? I know you could."

"Aunt May and uncle Ben said no. They wanted me to have a normal childhood, I think."

"Did you?"

"In a way. It's probably normal that there's nerd in every grade who's always picked on but it wasn't really fun to be him."

"Tell me about it."

"Oh, don't feed me that line. No way you let someone bully you and didn't set their pants on fire with a remote control."

"Well, yeah, but for me to have a reason to set their pants on fire they had to do something nasty to me first."

"That's fair."

They stayed there in silence for some time. Then Tony broke it.

"My mother used to love this romantic stuff. Flowers, stars, sappy crooning songs. She was Italian."

"So you're half-Italian and you half-love them?"

Tony propped himself up on one elbow and lowered his face to Peter so that their lips were almost touching.

"If you get me flowers, I'll have my helper bot make them into a smoothie."

"Gotcha," Peter said. "Only bouquets of robotic arms for you."

"That might work," Tony allowed, smiling against Peter's mouth. "Stars are good, though. Stars are nice."

"Stars for Tony Star-k," Peter said, slipping his fingers into Tony's soft hair.

"Oh, that was horrible. Don't ever say that again or I'll have to bench you from the comedy field. Seriously, is this the best you got?"

Peter touched his lips to Tony's, and the indignant speech for the protection of humor died down.

They were kissing under artificial stars, languid and unhurried, lips caressing lips, tongues touching gently.

It had been the messiest, most dangerous, most inane first date in Peter's life, and he wouldn't have traded it for the world.

Sappy moron, that was who he was.

At least he wasn't alone in this.


	5. Chapter 5

ME  
Okay, so I know it’s not the most original idea but there’s a movie premiere soon, red carpet, all that jazz. Wanna come?

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
I always wanna come. Who doesn’t?

ME  
Tantric sex practitioners, I suppose.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Fair enough. What’s the movie, btw? Is it black tie?

ME  
I don’t remember, some superhero flick or something. It is, but you can wear whatever.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Ooh, can I wear a lady Gaga bubble dress?

ME  
You got the legs for it, sweetheart. Just as long as it’s not the meat dress. That will start stinking very soon, it’s kinda hot this spring.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Gross.

ME  
So, you in?

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Do you think we’ll get a chance to slip away for a quickie in the bathroom?

ME  
If we don’t, I’ll invent a time machine and make sure we have one.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
I can’t say no to a time machine promise. My inner nerd would stop respecting me. When is it?

ME  
There’s nothing inner about your nerd, he’s def out and proud. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
I never told you where I live.

ME  
...

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Right, stupid question. Shameless stalker, you :*

Tony found himself grinning at his phone and deliberating whether to send three kissing faces at once or think of something witty to say. Someone coughed next to him, and judging by how irritated the cough was, it wasn’t the first time they did this.

“Tony, will you please spare a minute to take a look at this presentation of R&D plans for the next quarter?”

Right, work. And a very angry Pepper who couldn’t start yelling at him in the middle of the meeting with other people around and so was forced to use her deadly polite voice, the one that sounded like a blade swishing horrifyingly close to one’s testicles.

His Starkphone vibrated in his hand again and he glanced down at it again. A new message from Peter.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
I wanted to ask, did you do the second series of tests on the alien thing?

‘Not yet,’ Tony typed. ‘Bruce says the skin with the new set of clusters is gonna finish growing ard 8 tonight.’

‘Oh,’ came a response. ‘I know our date’s tomorrow but is there any chance I could come over and test it with you?’

“Tony!”

Tony startled and looked up at Pepper. She seemed ready to push a pen through his eye.

“I am texting someone who is, hopefully, the next head of our R&D,” Tony said and felt some triumph at the surprise on Pepper’s face. “I’m sure he’d be able to come up with something better than this lame-ass shit.”

The current head of R&D became red in a way that made Tony think of strokes. Apart from changing color in such an alarming fashion, he also seemed to have sweated enough for a barrel within the short time it took Tony to utter those two sentences. He looked old and out of fresh ideas and afraid of losing his job.

If Tony remembered correctly, the head of R&D was two years younger than Tony himself.

“This, uhh, this is quite preliminary,” the head of R&D started, gulping between words. Greg, that was his name.

“Good thing it’s preliminary, Glen,” Tony said. “God forbid if those were the final plans, what would you do then? Scratch all that and bring me something new, something better. Get your head outside that box before this guy,” Tony waved his phone in the air, “takes your chair in this meeting room and makes more use of it than you.”

After that the meeting was effectively over and Tony made for the door, eyes on his phone, Jarvis in his headset telling him to veer left or right whenever there was an obstacle in his way.

ME  
It’s a school night, do you need a permission slip signed by ur aunt?

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
If that’s what you’re into, I can arrange a slip and even a school uniform, although there’s no need to let my aunt know what we get up to in the privacy of your penthouse. I’m very adept at forging her signature.

ME  
Oh-la-la, somebody’s got a criminal past. Should I whip out the handcuffs?

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Stop it, I don’t wanna get hard in the library.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
If you don’t stop, you’ll be the one in the handcuffs.

ME  
Was that supposed to dissuade me?

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
You are a dirty old man.

HOT ASS KID REPORTER  
Seriously though, I wanna come over to test it with you guys. What if it works!?

Tony heard heels clicking behind him - _the_ heels, in fact, as he knew very well who they belonged to. He turned off the phone screen just as Pepper caught up with him, wary curiosity warring with habitual anger on her face.

“So, when can I let the HR know there’s a new head of R&D?” She wondered. “Unless, of course, you just said that to derail the meeting and run away.”

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” Tony said. Truth be told, he would like Peter to work for Stark Industries. Working together, especially as a boss and an employee was supposed to make a relationship more complicated but he’d made it work with Pepper - God knows none of the reasons why they’d broken up was the difference in their respective positions in the company - and he could make it work with Peter.

When he thought about Peter’s mischievous grin, Peter’s brilliant mind, it seemed to Tony everything and anything could work if only they tried to tackle it together. It was frightening and exhilarating and so unlike the resigned trepidation with which he tended to start what he termed ‘a long-term relationship’.

He stored these thoughts in a faraway corner of his mind to ponder later (preferably never if he had any say in it) and smiled at Pepper.

“You were actually texting a new conquest of yours, weren’t you?” She asked, sounding disappointed but not surprised. “Could you do the marketing a courtesy and let them know who it is before you’re trending with your hand in their pants?”

Now that was downright mean, even if Tony could see where it totally applied to him, at least him from some years ago. Maybe Pepper ought to take a vacation somewhere so she could return mellowed by the sun and shirtless cabana boys - not that it was only the exhaustion of running an enormous international company, not that Tony didn’t do his fair share in making her feel mean and want to say mean things, but that was how he was, and lately she just seemed more tired of it than usual.

It was perhaps for the best that they had broken up, and also that she was, apparently, still angry at him. Fuming and determined was always a better combination than wallowing and miserable.

“It’s Peter, if you must know,” he said, pointedly ignoring the jibe.

“The reporter kid?”

“Yes. And by the way, we’d be lucky to get him as our head of R&D. His brain is more beautiful than his ass, and you must have seen that ass in the photos.”

“Why don’t you offer him the job, then?” Pepper raised her eyebrows. “You think he’ll say no to a position like that?”

Tony stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned on his heels to look Pepper in the eye. He had to look up, especially with her in those designer shoes, but it was a minor inconvenience he was long used to.

“Listen here,” he said. “Jarvis, dial Peter.”

Peter answered his phone on the fourth dial tone.

“Why are you calling me when I’m in the library?” He was whispering and Tony imagined him hiding in the dustiest corner, between bookcases no human hand had touched for years. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you want to be my head of R&D?” Tony asked. Pepper spluttered a bit next to him. He paid her no mind.

“What?”

“Head of R&D. What do you say?”

“Let me finish college first,” Peter said, sarcasm palpable even in his whisper. “Then we’ll see. Is that all you wanted to say?”

“No, actually, since I was goaded into this conversation, I have other things to say,” Tony suddenly found that he had a lot of his own anger, directed at Pepper who was an amazing human being but who was also more than capable of hurting him and had done it skillfully enough that it still smarted. “Do you want a million dollars?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Two million? Ten? A billion? All chump change to me. If you want it, just say the word.”

“Tony,” Peter said, and he sounded somewhat angry now, too, and why was everyone angry at each other around here? “I don’t know what prompted you to start this conversation but I thought, well, I thought you thought better of me. If you want it spelled out, fine: I don’t need a single dollar of yours. I don’t need a job I haven’t earned. I don’t want anything - anything like that. And this whole conversation is weirding me out. Is this because I asked if I could come over for testing? You could have just said no, you know. Text me when you don’t feel like interrogating me. Or don’t.”

Peter hung up, and Tony blinked at his phone screen. Something somewhere had gone horrible wrong, and he wasn’t sure what it was but it left him feeling uneasy.

“Congratulations,” Pepper said, and she didn’t sound mean anymore, only sad. “He doesn’t sound like a gold-digger.”

Anger deflated, Tony glanced at her briefly before staring at the phone again.

“I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she agreed.

Then she changed the topic to what could be salvaged from the pile of drivel that R&D had just been presenting as their plans for the next quarter, and he was really very grateful for this small mercy.

* * *

Waking up felt more like climbing out of a sewer while an evil gnome was running around inside Tony’s head hitting everything he could reach with his wicked sharp axe. The taste coating his tongue was so foul that he hastened to open his mouth as wide as possible and just breathe slowly. Even doing that enraged said gnome in his head.

“Good morning, sir.” Jarvis’ familiar cool voice was like the eruption of a volcano. With pain instead of lava.

“Jarvis,” Tony hissed. “Stop. Shouting.”

“My apologies, sir.” The volume of Jarvis’ voice went obediently down but it didn’t help very much. “Seeing you awake, I took the liberty of greeting you. I also feel obliged to remind you that you are currently dangerously dehydrated and recommend consuming water and pain-relieving medicine.”

“Cyanide,” Tony groaned. “C’n I consume some o’ that?”

Jarvis ignored the ridiculous demand with the aplomb that only a true British butler could master. Tony slowly lifted himself on his elbows, lowered his feet to the floor and got up, fighting an urge to hold his head with both hands to keep it from cracking with the pain.

The journey to the bathroom was perilous - dare he say, it was fraught with mortal danger as he vomited twice with pure awful bile, his stomach seemingly crawling up his throat and wanting to get the hell out of here. No such luck, they were stuck together, Tony and his stomach, if they wanted to continue functioning, and right now being together hurt about as much as being apart would.

Robotic vacuum cleaners directed by Jarvis hot on his vomit-stained heels, Tony got to the bathroom and sat down in the tub. Jarvis started up a gently refreshing shower without asking, and Tony waited under the stream until the white-hot pain in his head turned into throbbing which was also unpleasant but more or less compatible with living on and making plans for immediate future. When he’d feel awake enough, he’d have a proper shower and clean his teeth, then drink the water that was probably already waiting for him back in the bedroom, then about his own weight in coffee. Then he’d open some project or other, the best way to dispel the remains of any hangover, even as vicious as this one. Say, wasn’t the new batch of alien skin supposed to have finished growing yesterday?

...Right.

Tony considered going straight back to his bar. Fortifying himself for another day without a glass of whiskey or two was doubtlessly impossible.

Eventually he decided against drinking again right now and showered and brushed the hangover taste off his tongue and teeth. There was always later, and right now he had Dummy staring at him with his only camera eye and holding out a huge mug.

“Go away,” Tony said, taking the mug. Dummy whirred a couple of steps away and pretended that he had hidden from Tony’s view, and Tony let him.

Each sip of water helped his thoughts, still somewhat muddled by the hangover and lack of sleep. He recalled yesterday in stark uncomfortable clarity. It was a miserable day: he offended Peter, did a lot of paperwork and, as soon as he managed to slip away from Pepper’s watchful eye, he drank like a desperate sponge. He remembered Bruce coming in to tell him that clusters were ready for testing and that he, Bruce, invited Peter to come take a look but Peter refused. It happened when Tony was very close to finishing off the second bottle but nowhere near close enough to forgetting the day, and Bruce’s news made Tony stop trying to get pissed with cognac and break out the vodka.

“J,” Tony called out. “Did I drunk-dial Peter yesterday?”

“You were most insistent that you were not going to do it, sir, and you only gave up after the second bottle.”

“Play the recording.”

“There is no recording, sir.”

“Did I make you delete it?”

“Mr. Parker’s phone was switched off at the moment of the call.”

“A stroke of luck,” Tony muttered. “Was that in the middle of the night?”

“The time of the call is one thirty-three a.m.”

Tony rubbed his forehead. “What time is it now?”

“Three oh five a.m., sir.”

Calling again would be stupid - if Peter turned his phone off for the night, it stood to reason that it was still off. Tony contemplated coming over to Peter’s house and throwing rocks at his window to attract his attention. Maybe a boom box, playing whatever Peter’s generation liked to listen to. On the other hand, if he woke up Peter’s elderly aunt, the whole conversation afterwards would be sourer than it was already going to be.

A normal person waits until morning, Tony told himself. Yes, morning, and then the normal person buys Peter’s favorite coffee and bagels, uploads the results of cluster tests that Bruce had had to do alone to his phone and goes to grovel while Peter is still half-asleep and vulnerable. Being a normal person was hard, though: it took Tony all of three minutes of sitting on his bed and watching hologram clock tick to jump up and start pacing.

He’d screwed up. He always did. Who’s to say Peter would even want him back? Tony was way more trouble than he was worth. It was all fun and games until it wasn’t fun at all anymore, until Tony called and practically accused Peter of lusting after Tony’s money.

Why on Earth - in the whole endless universe - would he do that? He wanted to show Pepper that Peter wasn’t a boy toy, wasn’t a one-night fuck, that Peter was hand-holding, lab-tinkering, rule-breaking boyfriend material, something Tony had never met before, and he chose the stupidest and most painful way to do that.

It was like he was sabotaging himself on purpose.

Thinking that didn’t feel nice at all. Tony stopped pacing and started walking determinedly towards the elevator that could take him to the lab.

“I should inform you, sir, that Spider-man is outside the tower again,” Jarvis said suddenly.

“Is he now? What’s he doing there?”

“He appears to be simply sitting and doing nothing else. He has been there for the last two hours.”

“I hope he’s just really enjoying the view,” Tony muttered. “Otherwise it’s getting suspicious. Let’s pay him a visit, Jarvis. Get a suit here.”

“Of course, sir.”

Outside was rather chilly and windy, if the suit’s readings were to be believed, and Tony had not reason not to trust them. Spider-man in his thin spandex unitard didn’t seem to notice the cold, even though seated as he was on the edge of the roof he had to be blasted by the wind from every direction. He was throwing something up and catching it, again and again, effortlessly, although he was not looking at it. Tony zoomed in on it and saw that it was a phone. Not just any phone, but Peter’s, unless there was an exact copy out there, with identical scratches and the same faded sticker of a DNA spiral on the back cover.

“Listen here, spider guy,” Tony said.

Spider-man flinched, startled, and almost dropped the phone. After it was secure in his hands, he glanced at Tony sharply as if to say ‘jeeze, man, give me a warning next time.’ Tony had had it up to the fucking sky with the silences and mysterious vigils by his tower, and what was he doing with Peter’s phone when Peter was allegedly sleeping?

“What is it that you’re doing here? Is there nowhere else to hang out at night but my roof? And how did you get your hands on Peter’s phone?”

Spider-man hid the hand with the phone behind his back guiltily. Tony rolled his eyes.

“What are you, five? I’ve already seen it. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t borrow it so you could make a call because it’s off and has been off for hours. This suit’s not just for looking fancy, it can take readings and hack databases. So spill. Open your mouth and tell me what I want to know, or I swear, I’ll shake it out of you.”

Spider-man snorted quietly and shook his head. Tony felt anger rising in his guts, searing and thick. He was not in the mood for these games, any day but not today.

Spider-man gasped as a repulsor blast scorched the roof right next to him and dropped right off the edge, shooting webs as he went.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Tony said and dove after him.

Spider-man was quick but not so quick as to outfly the suit. He twisted in the air, his arm brushing Tony’s metal-covered fingers, and he might have gotten away again due to his superhuman agility but Tony, contrary to the popular belief, was able to learn from his mistakes. He flipped in the air, catching his adversary with a kick at his ankle just as Spider-man was about to land on Tony and jump off him. At the blow - strong enough to shatter the bone in an average human - Spider-man made a strangled sound and reached to the injured area instinctively. He caught himself a moment later but a moment of distraction was quite enough for Tony to grab him by the neck and squeeze just a little bit.

Spider-man fingers closed over Tony’s hands, trying to pry them off, and Tony remembered that Spider-man was probably able to do just that, with that strength of his, given enough time. Maybe if his oxygen continued to stay half-cut off, it would prove more difficult.

“Talk,” Tony shook him a bit in a reminder of what he said a minute ago. “Yeah, I owe you my life and all that jazz but I really don’t care. Not when you have Peter’s phone. If you really must, you can freeze your ass off here on my roof every night, whatever, but when I see someone’s property in someone else’s hands, where it shouldn’t be, I get really cranky. If there’s the slightest chance that you’re a threat to Peter’s safety, you are going to jail. Or six feet under, depending on what the threat is, exactly. So I advise to start talking right away and think very carefully of what you’re going to say.”

Tony really didn’t think speaking would be that big of a deal. He knew for sure Spider-man wasn’t mute, and even if he was a villain with fiendishly clever long-term plans, it would make all the more sense for him to try to talk himself out of the situation.

However, Spider-man was more stubborn that Tony had given him credit for. He didn’t say a word and just kept trying to free his neck from Tony’s grip.

“We can do this the hard way,” Tony offered. “I can take your mask off, and once I’ve seen your face, it will take a couple of minutes, tops, to find out who you are, where you live, what you do for a living and in your spare time, who are your relatives and friends, and even how many times a day you shit. You can’t even imagine the wealth of information that is right there for the taking for someone with the right resources at hand. And then you will talk, unless you want that face of yours splashed across every newspaper in the country.”

Spider-man kept silent with all the determination of a mule.

“As you wish,” Tony shrugged and made to tug the mask off with his free hand.

The spandex was indeed thin and also slippery. Since the suit fingers were not exactly as deft as human hands, it took Tony a few tries to find the edge of the mask and get a good grip. Wile he was fumbling, he was waiting for Spider-man to start talking at any moment, at least to say “no, don’t!”. With how careful Spider-man had always been to keep his mask on, it stood to reason he would break his damned vow of silence now.

He didn’t. Desperate and quiet, he writhed in the air, pooling all his strength in his hands, and very soon - sooner than Tony had expected - the metal of the suit glove groaned. The thumb bent away and Spider-man sucked in a huge breath.

“Shit!” Tony left the mask, which was now up to Spider-man chin, alone, caught Spider-man by the shoulder and started pulling his arm away.

Strong as he was, Spider-man couldn’t resist Tony working with all the suit had, but he also didn’t let go of Tony’s thumb. As Tony pulled, Spider-man pulled too, his neck now almost completely free.

Before Tony could move his hand and catch him by the neck again, Spider-man twisted with his whole body and wrenched his shoulder free. In free fall he thrust out his hand and shot a load of webs directly into Tony’s faceplate - no one could miss at this range.

Tony, of course, could work around the lack of human vision - he still could see the readings on the inside of his visor and the web only covered a few sensors. He was still very much used to being able to see, though, and let himself lose several precious seconds tearing the webs off in a fit of frustration. Even if Spider-man only had one fucking trick, it was a good one, it fucking worked every single time!

This time, though, Spider-man was injured and didn’t get far by the time Tony was able to see. He spotted the red and blue suit far below, slipping along the side of a building towards a dark alley opening. Chances were once Spider-man got there, Tony would lose him in the maze of backstreets, fire escapes, trash cans and whatnot.

Good thing he was still faster.

“In a hurry?” Tony asked, hovering in the air in front of Spider-man. The latter shifted a little, leaning against the wall and relieving his ankle of the body weight, and raised his hands, web shooters up. He looked ready to go down swinging, much as his webs weren’t a match for missiles, bullets, repulsor blasts and pretty much anything else from Tony’s exceedingly wide array of weapons.

The fight had been brief and stupid, and Tony didn’t even feel angry anymore, only confused. The only plausible reason for Spider-man’s determined silence he could think of was that if Spider-man spoke, Tony would probably recognize him by voice. All other probable reasons, however far-fetched, were inapplicable since Spider-man talked quite freely to others, including criminals he apprehended and innocent bystanders he saved. So he was someone Tony knew under that mask.

Someone undoubtedly young, extremely flexible, definitely a guy, with an interest in Tony and a very, very close friendship with Peter. Only Peter knew when and how to take good photos of Spider-man in a fight; Spider-man didn’t have a phone so he borrowed Peter’s, no questions asked; they were the same height, the same build.

And really, Tony had to be a complete moron not to recognize the lips he had kissed very recently below the hitched up edge of the mask. And whatever else, but a moron he was not. Obviously.

It did all seem obvious in hindsight. And also horrifying.

“God,” he said, landing with a ‘clunk’. “Oh God, Peter, I hurt you. Jarvis, open the suit!”

He jumped out of the suit and made a few steps towards Spider-man - Peter - who was slowly lowering his hands.

“God, I’m so sorry, Peter, I didn’t know, I thought - I was so angry, I didn’t know! Let me take you to a hospital, your ankle, your neck...”

Peter took in a deep, clearly audible breath and tugged the mask completely off.

Even knowing whose face was underneath, it was still like a blow to the solar plexus to see it. Peter was pale and his eyes seemed so much darker in the diffused light of the streetlights, like he had no pupils.

“I - I’m sorry for lying,” Peter said. “It was better if you didn’t know. A secret identity is secret, you know.”

He laughed and immediately started coughing. His hand went up to his throat, massaging gently. There must be bruises from Tony’s metal glove, God, what had he done?

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, as if he had anything to be sorry for here. “I’ll... go.”

“Wait! You need to go to the hospital, you’re hurt, I hurt you - I did that -” Tony looked down, at Peter’s ankle turned under an unnatural angle, and bent over, vomiting up bile.

He couldn’t stop heaving, he couldn’t take a breath, he couldn’t think, he hurt Peter, he did that, his stupidity and anger, he tried and tried but no air came in, there were bright spots in his vision, too bright -

“Shh,” he heard. A warm hand touched his back and started rubbing in reassuring circles. “It’s okay, Tony, it’s alright. I’ll heal, see, I’m already better. Breathe, Tony, just breathe with me, okay? In... and out... in... out... here you go... in... out...”

Tony breathed obediently. He couldn’t think but he could breathe when someone else showed him how.

In and out, in and out until his head cleared and he realized that it was Peter, sitting next to him on the pavement and talking him out of a panic attack. Tony felt disgusted with himself for breaking apart like this, especially now and in front of him, but a small part of him was relieved and happy that Peter was still here and touching Tony instead of leaving him to his own devices.

“I’m so sorry,” Tony said. It was important for Peter to understand that Tony was just an idiot, not a malicious one. “I wanted to come over in the morning, with coffee. I know, you like coffee. And bagels. I’d get cream cheese and cherry jam ones. Do you even like cherries? You seem like you like them. And I’d show you the test results, for clusters, Bruce did the testing, I haven’t looked yet, we’d look at them together, and you wouldn’t be angry anymore. I’m so, so, so sorry, for now and for yesterday.”

He stopped to take a deep breath and Peter chimed in.

“It’s okay, Tony, it’s alright. I mean, yesterday was kind of not okay and we will talk about it but today is okay. You didn’t know it was me, you thought I might be in danger, right? I will heal. I always do. It takes three days tops for a broken arm. Easy-peasy.”

“Let’s get you to the hospital. Please.”

“No, no hospitals. I already started healing. Any doctor worth their license will notice there’s something off, and if I stay for a few hours, everyone and their mother will know I’m not quite human. I’d better just get home and lie down.”

“Is your aunt at home? Does she know you are,” Tony swallowed but continued on, “Spider-man? If not, she’ll know something’s off if you can’t walk one day, then just get up the next morning.”

“She doesn’t know.” Peter signed. “Only one person knows, I think, unless they told someone else. And now you. Listen, I don’t know if you still - if you want - I mean, could you please not tell anyone? And if your suit, or phone, or something recorded our conversation, can you erase it? Please? I don’t even care if anyone finds out about me, but if they do, they’ll find out about aunt May. There are people out who’ll kill her just because I love her.”

“No one’s gonna find out from me,” Tony said. He meant it, too. He’d kept countless secrets of his own, he’ll keep this one for Peter. In fact, as many as Peter would like. “But you still need a doctor. If you don’t want to go to a hospital, I’ll call my private surgeon. Please.”

Peter laughed suddenly.

“Look at us,” he said, smiling so brilliantly like the last ten minutes hadn’t been a complete nightmare. “Sitting in the street in the middle of the night and pleading with each other like we’re both afraid the other one will say ‘fuck off’ at any moment and leave.” He stopped smiling as abruptly as he had started. “I’m not planning to say that. And I’m actually glad you know because keeping silent next to you is sheer torture, you know me, I never shut up, and I also wanted to trust you, kind of. Are you?”

“Am I what?” Tony echoed.

“Don’t be daft,” Peter sounded so gentle, so _affectionate_ that something inside Tony ached fiercely, like gnawing hunger for something he not only didn’t know he wanted - something he never knew existed.

“No,” Tony said, and felt this enormous, breathtaking hope crushing him from the inside, and it would have probably crushed him into dust if Peter wasn’t looking at him and smiling as if he was seeing someone he liked. “Of course, I’m not, have you missed the part about coffee, bagels and science?”

“I heard that part, yeah.” Peter grinned. “Sounded like a dirty bribe to me. Would have worked like a charm, too. I’ll tell you this huge secret if you promise to only ever use it for good: I adore cherries.”

He was going to say something else but talking could wait because Tony realized he wanted to kiss Peter really badly and nothing was technically stopping him.

So he did, and Peter kissed him back.


	6. Chapter 6

Pain woke Peter up. It was low-key but annoying, as it always was when his bones were knitting together after being broken. If he concentrated, he could swear he felt the broken ends growing and connecting, slowly and inexorably. It was unsettling.

He was also thirsty and too hot.

“Jarvis,” Peter whispered, trying not to wake Tony up. “Lower the temperature a few degrees, please.”

The AI didn’t say anything but the air coming from the AC became immediately cooler. Tony mumbled something in his sleep and hugged Peter closer to himself.

Peter raised the arm that wasn’t under Tony’s chest and slid his fingertips down Tony’s shoulder and back. The undersuit’s fabric was cool and smooth like natural silk. Maybe that was what it was.

“What time is it?” Peter whispered.

The big holograms of digits 8:03 shimmered in the air, obedient to the silent Jarvis. Peter itched to get up and take a closer look at the well-hidden lasers but Tony was still asleep, and besides, Peter was still aching here and there. Jesus Christ, and during that fight yesterday Tony hadn’t even set out to hurt him. He imagined Tony against a real enemy - something he had seen many times on TV but had never truly understood until last night - and shivered half in trepidation, half in very ill-timed arousal. Iron Man was an enormous power that rarely got fully unleashed, and Peter just got a glimpse.

Just to think of it, one man’s genius made it possible. It was incredible, and breathtaking, and yes, very, very hot.

Tony’s breath warmed Peter’s neck in slightly ticklish regular bursts. Peter kissed his hair gently and hugged him tight, knowing pretty much for sure it would wake Tony up and also knowing that they should talk about yesterday in broad daylight.

Well, not right away, of course. One or two more kisses wouldn’t hurt. On the contrary, they distracted Peter from the pain quite successfully.

“Morning,” Tony mumbled.

“Morning,” Peter said. Tony’s hair smelled like metal, car grease and lime. A lime shampoo? Was that new?

He started to suspect there could be no constructive discussion while they were in bed together, warm with sleep and pliant, and Tony’s smell was positively intoxicating. Nonetheless, he was in no hurry to get up.

Tony kind of ruined it by scooting to the side and propping himself up on his elbows.

“How are you?” He asked.

“Fine,” Peter shrugged. “I do heal quickly, and it was a small break.”

Now, apparently, Peter had ruined it too, because Tony’s hesitant smile turned into a frown.

“I’m so incredibly sorry for hurting you,” he said, and he looked sad and resigned as he did. “I would never have touched a hair on your head if I knew it was you. Moreover, even though I didn’t know, I should have been more... reasonable. Despite creepy silent vigils on my roof, Spider-man hasn’t been anything but an ally so far, and I wish I hadn’t been half-hungover, half-drunk and sleep-deprived last night. I hope you can forgive me.”

Peter waited until Tony was done with his piece - which sounded well-rehearsed, even though there couldn’t possibly have been enough time for that - and then shook his head.

“Don’t apologize for that. In hindsight, sitting on your roof was really creepy and stupid, and even if someone helped you a few times, it doesn’t mean they are not carrying out a long-term harmful plan. Besides, there’s no permanent damage done and you knew I was tough enough before you ever flew outside, it’s impossible not to notice I’m, uh, enhanced.”

Tony’s disagreement was obvious on his face, so Peter went on before they could get stuck on arguing about it or, God forbid, start discussing why on Earth Peter had been hanging out on Tony’s roof in the first place:

“What I want to talk about is that weird conversation. Don’t think you’re off the hook because I agreed to come up and sleep in your bed yesterday. Did you really think I was a gold-digger? What was all that about?”

Tony signed.

“I don’t really want to talk about it. I suppose I owe you -“

“You don’t owe me anything,” Peter interrupted. “Just, well, if you don’t wanna explain, can you at least tell me if you really thought that? That I was after your money or a cushy job at SI?”

Tony smiled at Peter, still uncertain but more cheerful than the last time.

“Not for a second. Well, it did cross my mind you were after my internationally acclaimed body and sexual prowess... but not the money, no.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Typical of Tony to turn a serious conversation into a joke. On the other hand, all the seriousness had been starting to give Peter a headache, so it was for the best.

“You got me,” he said. “I leave piles of unzipped pants and unbuttoned skirts behind me wherever I go. I’m a shameless seducer, me.”

“You are!” Tony argued. “You were all cheeky and smart at that gala and moaning over the chocolate fountain, how did you not start an orgy right there?”

“First of all, I so did not moan over chocolate. Second of all,” Peter smirked, “why would I want an orgy with all those people whose hotness isn’t properly internationally acclaimed? I aim high, Tony dear.”

Tony kissed him.

Something went off with a deafening ka-boom, and the windows blew inside in a hailstorm of glass.

Instinct worked faster than thought - Peter’s mind cleared only when he was already on the floor behind the bed, covering Tony bodily. Glass bit into the back of his head and tangled in his hair.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Tony gasped. Being suddenly thrown to the floor with proportional strength of a spider had apparently knocked the wind out of him. “Let me up. On the bedside table, the bracelets...”

Peter pressed Tony into the floor a bit more forcefully - the last thing he planned to do was letting a suitless Tony up in a room with bombs going off nearby - and reached up to the bedside table for the homing bracelets. He fumbled there for a few seconds, swallowing curses when his fingers sliced on random pieces of glass, but didn’t find anything.

“They must’ve fallen off,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. Get to the lab and put a suit on.”

“And leave you here alone? You can’t even walk, you’re injured!”

“I can climb walls just fine,” Peter glared at Tony, and Tony glared back. They could have gone on with that for a while, probably, but a new explosion lifted the bed up and dropped it right on top of them.

Peter cried out when an edge of the metal frame landed on his back - more from the surprise than from anything else because as sturdy as the bed was, it was not nearly as bulky as, say, a car. He caught the falling bed with one hand flat against the surface and pushed it off, keeping it between the window and Tony.

“Go,” Peter begged. “If that fell on you, you’d be a pancake with a goatee right now. You’re the fucking genius here, do the smart thing, for God’s sake! I’ll be fine!”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook because I agreed to go get a suit on,” Tony said reluctantly and crawled to the door with the speed of a man knowing exactly what to do in order to survive.

Tony’s vulnerable, completely human body out of the picture, Peter tossed the stupid bed aside and got up, grimacing at the ache in his ankle.

“I know it’s you!” He shouted in the general direction of the hole that used to be a floor-to-ceiling window. “You can as well show your green ugly mug!”

No supervillain, as far as Peter could recall, ever managed to reject an invitation like that. Their anger and arrogance made it easy to goad them into a direct fight, no matter their IQ. The Goblin (not Harry, not Harry) was no exception.

He appeared with as much pomp as was possible, slowly leading his glider in a smooth downward curve. His green lips were stretched in a smirk, and Peter suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe it away with his fists.

That glass could have killed Tony. That wasn’t something Peter was willing to overlook.

“My, my, is it a bad time?” The Goblin tossed a pumpkin-shaped bomb into the air and caught it without looking at it. “I see you’re not dressed to receive guests.”

Peter fought the temptation to look down - he knew without checking that he was only wearing underwear. It wasn’t like he would have gone to bed wearing a torn and blood-stained Spider-Man suit. He didn’t have his webshooters either; he’d put them on the nightstand last night, right next to Tony’s homing bracelets.

Out of the corner of his eye Peter saw something dark and webshooter-shaped by the far wall. If only he could get there without the Goblin noticing...

“Jarvis,” Peter whispered. “If you can, distract him for a few seconds!”

There was no response, and nothing happened. Peter wondered if Jarvis got hacked by the Goblin. There had to be a reason why the Goblin didn’t attack them while they were sleeping and waited until morning instead. Was it because he had been trying to disable the Stark Tower’s most powerful security feature?

“Be a little louder, Petey-boy,” the Goblin sneered. “I. Can’t. Hear. You!”

Two bombs at once shot in Peter’s direction and he flew up in a straight jump, sticking to the ceiling with the tips of his fingers. The momentary pain in his ankle from when he’d put pressure on it for the jump was easy to ignore when the double explosion lifted him up and threw him forward, towards the window.

It was a bit like flying or swinging on the webs, the familiar ‘eek!’ sensation of not controlling where his body was going. Super villains did like tossing him around like a frisbee, Peter thought.

He caught the edge of the window pane with one hand, biting his lips when the remains of the glass opened up his palm, and swung himself up using the momentum of the explosion. The outside walls of the tower were still cold, despite the sun beating down, all shining chrome and metal, and the wind covered Peter with goosebumps all over.

He sincerely hoped Tony would get here quickly, preferably in an Iron Man suit.

“Just so you know, I brought even more toys!” The Goblin laughed and pointed what looked like a laser gun at Peter. “Let’s play “Swat the Spider”!”

“There’s no such game,” Peter said and pushed off the wall with all he had.

Unencumbered by a tight suit, or by the solid weight of his webshooters on his wrists, or, really, by anything at all, he was faster and lighter than ever. it was stupid and dangerous - like pretty much anything he did - and he loved every second of it, especially the surprised expression on the Goblin’s face.

He saw the surprise change into anticipation, the gun moving to point in a new direction but it was all slow to him in the high of the fight, like the Goblin was moving through molasses. Whatever was there in the cocktail Harry had dosed himself with, it was still not as good as the original, not tailor-made for him. Spider-Man was faster.

Peter landed on the glider behind the Goblin, missing the hot laser ray by a few millimeters, grabbed the ends of the guns and pulled.

He’d planned to press the unyielding metal into the Goblin’s throat - as enhanced as he was, he probably still needed to breathe. The Goblin guessed just in time to let go of the gun and try to duck, and the gun smashed into his teeth instead.

Peter felt the bone crumble from the force of the blow. He pulled again until the gun met the resistance of the flesh and could go no further. The Goblin’s hands, trembling with the shock of pain, found Peter’s. God, did that fucker have nails. Claws, more like.

Peter didn’t let go but he let himself have the luxury of screaming because it hurt like a bitch and he knew that even with accelerated healing he will need medical help to make sure he would be able to use his hands properly soon. He headbutted the top of the Goblin’s head; his ears rang despite the awkward angle making him waste some of the strength, and he hoped the Goblin wasn’t feeling any better.

The Goblin’s claws went deep into Peter’s hands and came out on in the other side, scraping the gun. The pain made Peter see white, and he screamed again, this time without thinking.

An arrow blurred past, and it was the Goblin’s turn to scream as his left hand fell weakly, cracked at the wrist, the claws sliding out of Peter’s hand. A perfectly round shield chased the arrow, slower but no less deadly. It crashed into the Goblin’s side, throwing him off the glider. The claws on the right hand pulled Peter along - he only now saw that they were actual metal claws, a device strapped to the Goblin’s knuckles, and found a split second to be glad he didn’t get hit in the face with a fist like this - and he went over the edge of the glider too.

There was no point in holding on to the gun now and Peter wished he’d thought of that while his feet still had some kind of surface underneath. They were freefalling now; the wind was deafening in Peter’s ears, the cold numbing as he struggled first to let go of the gun with suddenly clumsy fingers, then to get his hand off the metal claws.

The Goblin’s elbows, knees, snarling face were everywhere; his breath smelled sweetly rotten as he twisted and kicked and tried to bite Peter and push him down to make sure Peter hit the ground first.

Peter wondered distantly if Tony made it to his lab okay, if he’d met another animal-themed thug on the way, without the protection of the Iron Man suit. He hoped Tony was alright after all, or at least better than Peter who was about to become a spider-y pancake on the sidewalk. They had been falling for so long, they were sure to hit the ground any moment now. Numbers swelled and swirled in his head, calculating the speed of the fall and the approximate distance from Tony’s penthouse window to the ground. It was comfortable and familiar in its own way, a very simple physics problem to solve. If he was right, he was about to die in three... two...

The air was knocked out of him as his back hit something - much softer than the sidewalk, although still hard and uneven. The Goblin landed on him, and Peter let out a (very manly, thank you very much) squeak as the Goblin’s knees, elbows and armor all pressed into Peter’s most vulnerable places.

Before either of them could react, a giant green hand swiped at the Goblin like he was an annoying fly, and Peter was able to breathe again. The Hulk’s face, easily recognizable from TV and news feeds, hovered over Peter.

The Hulk looked pissed but Peter tried not to take it personally. Bruce Banner seemed to like him just fine, after all. And when did the Hulk ever not look pissed?

“Stupid spider,” the Hulk said. “Why not wait for help?”

“I...” Peter said. With the exception of Tony who Peter had known had gone to get the suit, Peter had not really been expecting any help from anyone. Which was, in the hindsight, really not so smart because hey, Stark Tower, chock full of the mightiest heroes the Earth had to offer.

“I’m stupid,” Peter admitted.

The Hulk snorted, a wave of warm air hitting Peter in the face. Strangely, the Hulk’s breath smelled like nothing. Perhaps the gamma radiation killed any bacteria that was naive enough to try to make the Hulk’s mouth its new home. Did it mean the Hulk could forgo cleaning his teeth altogether and never have a single hint of morning breath? Peter itched to ask this question and about a million others, but he started with the most important thing:

“Is Tony okay?”

The Hulk looked up and to the right.

“Metal Man fine,” he said.

Peter followed the Hulk’s line of sight and saw a streak of red and gold heading straight down towards them. In fact, Peter had only had time to think ‘I hope he thought to pick up some clothes for me before flying out’, and then Tony was there, the faceplate snapping up to reveal the worried face underneath.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked.

Peter patted one of the Hulk’s enormous biceps.

“I’m in good hands,” he said, grinning. “’s a bit cold without pants but nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’ll send a drone with some pants,” Tony grinned and kissed Peter on the cheek. “Stay safe.”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Peter said with a smile that had to be the dopiest one in the history of smiles. He didn’t really care, though.

Tony flew back up and away and shot repulsor blasts from both hands at the Goblin who had already gotten onto his glider again. The Goblin swerved to avoid the hit and put himself directly into the path of an arrow which exploded on contact.

It was bit like watching a professional game of tennis, really.

A drone dropped some carefully folded clothes into Peter’s lap. Peter slid down to the ground, worming his way into the pants, and spent an embarrassing second caught up in the T-shirt. The clothes were well-worn and soft and smelled faintly of Tony.

“Spider stay out of trouble,” the Hulk recommended.

“No promises,” Peter said. The pavement under his feet was cold and what was a better way to warm up than getting into some trouble?

* * *

It was a losing battle, really. What could the Goblin do that an experienced group of heroes couldn’t take? They repelled an alien invasion, for Einstein’s sake, they could certainly handle a lone green villain with illusions of grandeur.

That was Peter’s train of thought as he took the elevator back to Tony’s floor and found his webshooters in a pile of debris and broken glass. He also borrowed a pair of trainers from Tony and took the time to find his mask because while he trusted Tony and the Avengers with his identity (they had all seen his face already anyway, so his best bet was to hope for their goodwill), he wasn’t taking chances with the cameras belonging to any possible bystanders. He knew first-hand how quick one could be with their camera, after all, and also how far criminals were willing to go to make Spider-Man’s life difficult.

Despite all the complications arising from his outing to the Avengers, an attack by the Goblin and everything else, Peter felt light as he stepped to the edge of what was supposed to be windowsill before the enormous panes of glass were blown in by an explosion. The wind whipped Peter’s face even through the mask, and he relished it.

He shifted his weight to his healthy ankle and jumped.

A bomb went off, and another one, and another. The tidal wave of explosions raised him and threw him, palpably hot and smelling of gunpowder; he fell, or he flew, he didn’t know anymore, and breathing was unbelievably hard, the air sharp like knives in his throat.

He heard the Hulk roaring beneath and the distant voice of Captain America who was telling someone to regroup, regroup dammit. Peter didn’t know if the order concerned him, too, but regroup he did, after a little while of trying to gather his scattered thoughts together; he twisted in the air, making his body into a ball, and shot a web at the nearest building, equations for adjustment for wind and heat crowding his head, solved before they were fully formed.

The web stuck to the very edge of the building, the two centimeters of super tensile line that ensured today would not be the day Peter went splat on the pavement after all.

He shot more webs in quick succession. The key to remaining un-splat was to always keep moving. Stop, and the side of a building meets your stupid face. He learned that the hard way.

It was a bit difficult to think, what with all the ringing in his ears but he managed to find the way to Stark tower - the chain of explosions had thrown him two blocks away. When he came back, it was a very different battle that he saw.

A veritable zoo of thugs in animal-themed metal suits were on the ground, three or four per an Avenger - not enough to kill, unless the thugs were actually smart or got lucky, but more that enough to distract and slow down. High above, the Goblin sent streaks of orange bombs - not at Iron Man, the only Avenger who could fly and was therefore currently the most dangerous, but at the office buildings nearby. Peter saw Tony struggling to catch up, to explode or disintegrate each one before it could hit the tall glass walls with dozens of people still behind them or the streets with panicked crowds of people pouring out of said office buildings.

Peter looked around and lent a hand - more precisely, a foot - where it was most useful. He kicked the thug that was about to launch a missile at the Hulk, a nice roundhouse in the back of the neck where the suit’s helmet connected with the rest of it. To be honest, strong as he was Peter could never master the strength of a speeding train but what he had was more than enough to dent the metal and tip the thug over. It was clearly a bad day to be dressed like the love child of Robocop and a giraffe.

He caught another thug by the elbow and tugged, making him effectively lose the arm-wrestling match against the Hulk. The latter was quicker on the uptake than it was believed, Peter noted, as the Hulk took the opening without hesitating and punched the thug hard enough that Peter had no idea where he would land.

“Good work, buddy!” Peter gave thumbs up to the Hulk who only grunted and went on in search of a new opponent.

Most of the Avengers seemed to have their fights well in hand. In fact, Cap almost took Peter’s head off with a particularly unexpected throw of his shield and if it weren’t for Peter’s spider sense, the outcome would probably have been hella awkward as soon as Tony noticed his kind of boyfriend was missing a vital body part. After that Peter decided to redirect his efforts and climbed up the wall of the building which was the Goblin’s current target.

It was a stalemate between Iron Man and the Goblin which would last at least until the Goblin ran our of bombs but waiting for that was not a good option. Villains had to be kept on their toes at all times, otherwise they got bored and that never ended well for anybody. Peter tipped the balance into the good guys’ favor by webbing up a dozen bombs that were all flying in different directions and tossing them up as a bundle for Tony to incinerate all at once.

“Little Spider!” The Goblin looks perversely happy to see him. “Come to be swatted, have you now?”

“There is going to be no swatting of any insects or arachnids in my presence, I hope you understand,” Iron Man warned. “The official New York pest control workers union would hear all about you infringing on their territory. I can’t really let you treat their rights that way.”

Despite the mocking words, Tony sounded tense. Fighting a bomber here, surrounded by skyscrapers, was a death sentence for civilians, and Peter shared that tension. He knew the Goblin would not stop at killing anyone just to get at Peter and, by extension, Tony.

God, he never should have gone with Tony that night at the gala. Never should have put him in danger. But noooo, he had to be selfish and want someone wonderful for himself, at least for one night, and now it all escalated. How many lives were going to be taken today just because Peter Parker gave in to Tony Stark’s brilliant smile?

The Goblin ignored Iron Man, just like Peter suspected he would. It was between the Goblin and him. It was personal.

He pushed himself off the wall, swallowing the whimper that threatened to escape when he used his hurt ankle, and shot webs at the Goblin from both wrists.

The glider swerved but Peter accounted for that, and one of the webs landed true. Peter show another one, into the side of a building this time and pulled the glider down, using his own weight and momentum.

This had to be calculated precisely. One wrong move, one missed web and he’d become a puddle of goo at worst or incapacitated for a long time at best.

The glider tilted to the right and the Goblin had to clutch at the steering mechanism to stay on. His belt got caught at something and snapped, his shirt flapping in the wind like a sail. A bunch of bombs flew out of the folds of the shirt like orange acid rain, heading towards the crowds below. Peter’s heart stopped for a long, nauseating moment until he saw Iron Man swoop in and blast them out of the air with both hands.

They’d make such a good team, Tony and him. That is, if they both survived today, and whether that requirement was going to be fulfilled remained to be seen.

Peter yanked at the glider again to make it overturn and rolled up along a wall, softening the blow of careening into it at significantly high velocity. He stuck to the glass and steel with his fingertips, just long enough to propel himself in the right direction, and let go again, trusting his reflexes to do the work. The web connecting him to the glider went slack and Peter hurried to pull it again. Keep him off balance, keep him fighting for the control. That’s it, that’s right.

“Web me!” he heard and thought for one insane moment that it was an overly obsessed fan that managed to get to a shouting distance. Then he looked up and saw Iron Man hovering there, blinding and beautiful in daylight. “Come on!”

This time Peter recognized that it was indeed Tony speaking and didn’t hesitate to do as he was asked. With a quiet thwip a new line of web went through the air and stuck to Iron Man’s shoulder. Tony saluted Peter and flew up and away, the web still connecting them, and it was all Peter could do to grab it with one hand before it escaped his grasp.

With Iron Man hauling him around finding footholds for proper yanking was noticeably easier. The Goblin would have cut the web off if he could but being slung around like a boat caught in a storm out in the ocean didn’t allow for much except holding on for dear life.

The crowd below was finally being pushed away from center of the fighting by NYPD, and the Avengers took up the newly freed space, the animal themed thugs having been taken care of.

“Hulk!” Peter called out. “Wanna catch?”

Not waiting for a response, he threw himself upward, releasing and catching the web connecting him to Tony in a higher spot, then again and again until he landed on Iron Man’s shoulders.

“What is it with you and piggyback rides?” Tony asked, turning his head to look at Peter over the shoulder.

“Your piggyback rides are more like a rollercoaster - how can I resist the temptation?” Peter asked and jumped off.

The gravity was on his side, and the glider went down so sharply that the Goblin almost stayed behind, up in the air. Peter pulled with all he had and then let go.

Iron Man caught him, bridal-style, as the Goblin plummeted down and met the Hulk’s open palm which sent him flying into the nearest fire hydrant. The hydrant tore off, the water splashing out high and wide.

“Hulk!!” several indignant voices went at once.

Peter watched the Hulk survey his wet teammates with what could only classify as a sheepish look and then explain:

“Hulk not good at catch.”

It would take a stronger person than Peter to hold the giggle in after that, and he laughed unabashedly, cradled in Tony’s safe metal embrace. Tony’s faceplate went up.

“Look at him, happy as a clam,” Tony said. “What do you think you’re doing, Spider-Peter, jumping off like that? Are you suicidal or homicidal? It’s gotta be one or the other. Either you tried to kill yourself or give me a cardiac arrest with that stunt, so which was it?”

“Neither,” Peter insisted, still giggling like a maniac. “I’d web myself to something. I’m good at that.”

“What if you missed?” Tony was frowning at him, and Peter wanted to kiss that frown off. He did, in fact, do just that, hitching his mask up and leaning upward until his lips found the worried crease between Tony’s eyebrows, the tip of Tony’s nose, Tony’s chapped lips.

The remaining adrenaline was still flooding his body, and Peter would not mind working it off by taking the suit - or at least some strategic parts of it - off Tony and celebrating their apparent victory in a very filthy fashion. If there weren’t hundreds of spectators around, he might have gone ahead and suggested it to Tony, but as it was they were already behaving very suspiciously. Who knew what someone with a good camera could film, even high up as they were.

“In that case, it’s very good that you caught me,” Peter said, shifting slightly to hide the untimely bulge in his pants. Damn that revealing spandex. “Let’s go down to everyone?”

“Sure, why not,” Tony agreed, starting to fly them both down. “You can also tell everyone who the hell this little green guy is and how you know him.”

Well, that spoiled Peter’s mood very thoroughly.

When they landed, the Goblin was still lying on the pavement, apparently unconscious, and the Black Widow was finishing tying him up. A substantial pile of orange bombs was lying nearby, and Peter only wondered at their craftsmanship, considering that they didn’t go off when slapped by the Hulk.

“Nice to meet you, Spider-guy,” Hawkeye said, looking at Peter with such a piercing gaze that the mask seemed to be a protection as feeble as air against it. “That is - correct me, if I’m wrong - unless we already met under different circumstances.”

“We... might have crossed paths,” Peter said cautiously. “Let’s, um, let’s talk about it inside?”

“Inviting people to my home like your own already? I must say, you’re moving awfully fast,” Tony quipped half-heartedly.

“We’ll be up as soon as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s clean-up crew comes to take this guy away,” Captain America said. If he suspected who Peter was underneath the mask, he didn’t hint at it like Hawkeye did, and Peter was grateful for that.

Despite his apparent bad mood, Tony still helped Peter limp over to the tower entrance - after the fight was over, Peter’s ankle seemed to remember that it had been broken recently and came back at him with vengeance. Peter risked a look in its direction and found out it was swollen to the size of a grapefruit. That would probably take at least an hour to get rid of.

“I can climb up the wall outside,” Peter offered when they entered the lobby and the few remaining Stark Industries employees, mostly security, stared at them without even trying to hide their gawking. Thankfully, no one looked to be taking pictures but that didn’t mean no one will be screenshotting surveillance tapes later and selling the results to the highest bidder - or just posting them in their own blogs to become viral overnight.

“Don’t even think about it,” Tony said.

With every step they took, though, Tony’s mood seemed to become even fouler. Peter sensed it as clearly as the current of cold air from the nearest air conditioning unit, and he had no idea what could have caused it. They covered the secret identity bit last night, didn’t they? And yes, Peter chose not to come out with the whole story of his life, including his friend Harry and what became of him, right then and there but Tony could hardly be angry about that since he couldn’t know exactly how much information Peter kept to himself.

So what was it? He didn’t like being kissed out there? Was he embarrassed by the fact that someone could have seen them? It didn’t seem like Tony to be affected by something as insignificant as people watching, but what Peter knew about him after only several days? Was he annoyed by being dragged into a feud between Spider-man and the Goblin before he even had his morning coffee? Was he annoyed even further after connecting the dots and realizing that the attack during his shareholders meeting was also the Goblin’s idea and Peter had to have known but didn’t share any information?

Whichever reason it was, Tony’s bad mood hung between them in the elevator like a storm cloud while they were going up, and with each floor they spent in silence and brooding Peter’s own mood grew worse.

So what if he hid some information? He had an identity to protect. He had to think of aunt May. If the Goblin had such good sources that he could track them during their date at the Brooklyn Bazaar, he would also surely know if Peter told Tony everything and go after the most fragile person Peter loved. And if there were any boundaries to kissing, well, Peter was sorry for overstepping, but Tony didn’t exactly say “hey, let’s put this off until bedroom” up there, did he? How was Peter supposed to know unless Tony told him?

By the time they reached the penthouse, Peter was all good and ready for a shouting match but Tony didn’t seem to want one. He stepped out of the suit and went straight to the bar where he fetched a glass of whiskey and downed it immediately, then poured another.

Peter eyed the whiskey with some confusion - was Tony just eager to drink after a battle or was there something that prompted it? He wanted to ask but Tony’s heavy, unmoving gaze directed at the wall to Peter’s right stilled the words on his tongue.

Peter sat down on a nearby couch, stretching his screaming leg. They spent several minutes in awkward silence, and Peter was incredibly relieved to see Captain America, the Black Widow, Hawkeye and Dr. Banner in torn pants walk out of the elevator.

“Do you need medical attention?” Captain America asked, glancing at Peter’s ankle.

“I’ll be fine,” Peter said.

Captain nodded.

“Let’s talk then. Tell us everything you know about the attacker. I take it, it’s not your first encounter with him?”

“Yeah,” Peter said.

He licked his lips, trying to gather his thoughts and tell the whole painful, shameful story briefly and clearly. Tony suddenly got up and went towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Peter called after him.

“I’ve got work to do. Jarvis will fill me in on the little green man later,” Tony said without looking at Peter and left.

Peter stared at the door, feeling something inside him going numb.

“Spider-man,” Captain reminded him, apologetic but firm. “If you can, talk. That guy may have accomplices still out there.”

“Right,” Peter said, his lips heavy and unwieldy all of a sudden. “Talking. Right.”

He took a deep breath and started talking. What else was there to do?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the finishing line, folks. I just hope I don't get another several months' long writer's block, lol.

Tony was not hiding. Except it was absolutely what he was doing.

Jarvis was playing the conversation between Peter and the Avengers on a holoscreen, and Tony watched, cradling the whiskey glass in his hands. It was heavy and smooth, and the feel of it was comforting in a way. He didn’t drink any more, though - the memory of what he did just last night after getting shitfaced stayed his hand as surely as if it was hogtied.

He didn’t want to hurt Peter again. He also didn’t want to get hurt.

He settled the glass on a nearby workbench and pushed off with one foot, spinning in his chair. The blur of walls, equipment, screens, toolboxes was good. It was distracting.

When the chair stopped, Tony was facing away from the screen and he continued listening like that, without looking at battered Peter in jeans, a t-shirt (one of Tony’s) and a mask, telling Bruce, Cap, Natasha and Clint a heart-wrenching story in the dullest voice imaginable.

Tony felt an urge to call Pepper and say sorry. He never really understood before why she was so against his superheroing out there, why she begged him to stop, to destroy the suits. He was angry that she didn’t get it, didn’t get that it was who he was and he could stop putting himself in harm’s way with as much success as he could stop himself breathing. He resented it, and now he understood it on a level so visceral that it made his throat close up.

It was one thing to worry about someone he loved getting hurt as collateral damage. He could save such someone, bring them to safety and throw everything he had at fixing them. It was a horrible thing with various possible horrible outcomes, but it was different from what he felt when Peter vaulted off his back, freefalling to bring a villain down - literally and figuratively. Nothing Tony had ever felt compared to the way that all-consuming dread gripped his heart and squeezed until it bled when he saw Peter tumbling down.

He caught Peter, of course he did. Even if the sky rained with nuclear missiles only he could stop, he would have probably ignored them all and still headed over to snatch Peter out of the air.

His thoughts went to Pepper again. How had she lived through the same thing, day after day, watching death dog his steps and not knowing if he was going to return home at the end of the day, not knowing if he left to fight in the middle of the night and if she was going to be greeted with Jarvis informing her of his untimely death when she woke up? Tony tried it himself for all of five minutes and look where he was now, shaking in his lab behind closed doors, tail between his legs.

“How do people deal with fear, J? Normal people, I mean?” he asked, talking over the live conversation where Natasha was asking something.

Jarvis delicately paused the video. Tony knew he was recording it in the background, though. His smartest creation, J.

“Would you like me to collect a series of psychological recommendations on overcoming fear, sir?”

Tony sighed and rubbed his face.

“No, J. Just... just roll on.”

Jarvis resumed his broadcast. Tony listened to it without further comments, half his mind still replaying Peter falling on repeat.

It might not have been _so_ bad if Tony wasn’t aware that Peter put himself in danger willingly and always would until some villain or other outwitted him. A superhero life was a harsh and short one.

Maybe someone would get to Tony first, and then he would never have to live through losing Peter.

God, it’d only been several days. They went on one date - one and a half if anyone counted the gala, and Tony sort of did, because he was a sappy, sentimental old fool who found nothing better to do than fall head over heels for a smart, brave, handsome... Tony scrambled through the myriads of adjectives that applied to Peter but found none that could explain why and how he managed to let Peter in so deep that the thought of losing him now was worse than the idea of losing a limb. He could build a new limb. He couldn’t build a new Peter.

“Maybe Stark men were made of iron once upon a time,” he muttered. “But the problem is, Dad, they are not anymore.”

Talking to his dead father now. Great. What’s next? 

The conversation upstairs wound down, and Tony dismissed the holoscreen with a short gesture. He did indeed have work to do. No shortage on that front. He was planning to be so productive, Pepper would call security to check if he was an impostor. Where were those filter prototypes from the SI Japan branch? Should he maybe fly over there to talk them over with the designer? That was an excellent idea. He would see some Tokyo (from the window of his car), talk shop in Japanese, sign a ton or two of paperwork. Good time had by all.

And while he was on the plane, he could think of something to help Peter outwit the villains a little bit longer. A new suit? Webshooters upgrade? Or a weapon to throw? Peter could learn to do that, should be easy with that superhuman agility of his... Or some shape-changing shielding? Peter could use it to both fend off whatever the villains threw at him, in the very literal sense of it, and to aid his acrobatics. Nothing like a good pivot point to turn a battle around.

“Jarvis, make a new folder,” he ordered, rolling over to the table. “In my personal server.”

“How would you like to name it, sir?”

“Incy Wincy,” Tony said.

“Very funny of you, sir.”

“Shush. I’m not paying you to stifle my creativity with sarcasm.”

“You are not paying me at all, sir.”

“I’m starting to think I should, if only so I could doc a fine or two from your pay for mouthing off. Make a note, J, I should settle on an adequate salary for you sometime soon. Maybe next week, provided Pepper doesn’t kill me with a shoe when she hears about the idea.”

“I’m afraid, sir, that you do not possess enough funds to adequately compensate me for my services.”

Tony snorted. Someone else snorted too, and Tony looked up so fast, it almost gave him whiplash.

Peter was there, sticking to the door frame with one hand and one foot. He’d lost the mask and the trainers somewhere along the way and rolled up his pants leg to avoid the fabric touching the broken ankle area. He’d just been to an intense fight with bombs zipping around like mosquitoes and yet his most serious injury was the one Tony had given him.

“Hi,” Peter said quietly.

“Hi,” Tony echoed. He couldn’t stop himself from looking now that Peter - inexplicably - was here, absorbing the way a small, unhappy smile curved Peter’s lips, how huge and dark his eyes were in the gentle glow of the holograms, how tired he seemed.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah... yeah, sure,” Tony said and gave himself a mental kick. He should have said no. Peter would have respected that and left. It would have been easier all around.

Peter swung into the room, latching onto the wall, and crawled along until he reached the couch where he could deposit himself without bothering the broken leg.

“You should get some ice for this,” Tony nodded at the swollen, unnaturally pink skin.

“You don’t get to do that, Tony,” Peter said, solemn and serious. “You don’t get to walk away like you can’t stand the sight of me one moment and give me health advice the next. That’s not how it works.”

Tony didn’t really know what to say to that. Peter was right, wasn’t he? But if he thought so, what was he even doing here?

“What was that about?” Peter asked softly. “Why did you leave? We won, didn’t we? What put you in such a shitty mood?”

Again, Tony was lost. He knew the answer to that question but not how to put it into words. How was he to voice it that Peter was incredible, amazing, impossible and Tony was terrified of losing him more than he was terrified of deep space or of someone taking the reactor out of his chest again, and it made sense to get away before he got hurt like that?

He kept silent.

“Stop me if I do something you don’t want,” Peter said.

Tony watched Peter get up and limp across the room towards him, feeling much like a deer caught in the headlights. Stopping right in front of Tony, Peter put a hand on his shoulder to steady himself, straddled his lap and kissed him on the cheek.

“I want to be with you. But you’re making it very, very difficult right now.”

“No more difficult than you,” Tony said. His arms went to encircle Peter’s waist out of their own volition. “You could have died out there.”

He felt Peter’s warm breath on his neck and it made him shiver all over. He turned his head slightly and his lips found a vein on Peter’s throat which he kissed slowly. Peter’s fast, light pulse fluttered right there.

“Are you trying to distract me with sex?”

“Hey, first of all, you started it,” Tony accused him and was rewarded with a puff of laughter from Peter. “Second of all, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“No one does,” Peter said. “Everyone just bullshits their way through life and no one knows where they are going.”

Tony nipped at Peter’s neck to end the life coaching lecture before it started and got a gasp and an instinctive push of hips in return.

“You could have died out there,” Tony repeated. It was easier to say without looking Peter in the eye. “You jumped off and there you were, about to become a spider puddle. What would I tell your frail old aunt then, huh?”

“Anyone can die at any time,” Peter rested his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. “I didn’t say that to the others but I want to tell you now. There was a girl...”

“Let me guess, she met a boy once, and his name was Meter Marker?”

“Something like that, yeah. It was all fun and games until a certain point, you know. The boy got hurt and she patched him up. She was so very smart, she helped him out all the time. She was selfless and wanted to fight for justice just like he did. But he was enhanced and she was not, and the girl’s father made the boy promise not to get her involved into dangerous things. The boy didn’t listen to him, and one night the girl died in the boy’s arms. There was nothing he could do.”

Peter lifted his head, unspilled tears glistening in his eyes.

“Her name was Gwen Stacy.”

“There was an NYPD captain named Stacy a while back,” Tony recalled. “He died in line of duty but the circumstances seemed, well, murky. I wanted to dig into it then but had to save the world again or something like that and it went to the back burner.”

“Maybe you should have dug into it after all when you had time.” Peter sighed. “I don’t know how much you’d find out but it was... riveting stuff. I was there.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony set to playing with Peter’s hair in small, soothing motions and Peter leaned into the touch. 

“I was so afraid after she died. I literally had no friends, I didn’t date. If I could change aunt May’s memory and send her away under a false name, I’d have done it - you know, like Hermione Granger in the seventh book.”

“Hey, spoilers!”

“Seriously? Everyone and their mother read it ages ago. _Ages_ , Tony.”

“Well, I’m not everyone, am I?” Tony said airily.

“No, you’re not,” Peter got serious again, and Tony missed his smile already. “Let me finish, okay?”

Tony nodded.

“I didn’t think I should get close to anyone because that would put them in danger. And then there were you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You ruined the whole depressed lonely wolf thing I had going on. I sat on your roof at night like a creeper because I was afraid the Goblin would go after you, and he did. It was my worst nightmare come to life, and yet you lived through it. I lived through it. And I thought, if at the end of the nightmare I still get to be next to you, it might be worth it.”

“Careful, or I’ll decide that you _like_ like me,” Tony said.

“I like you so very much, it scares me.” Peter’s sincerity was immediate and more searing that any kisses or touches could ever be. “It feels so big and amazing, just touching you, talking to you, and it literally keeps me awake at night to think that I could lose it. If not because of the Goblin, then because of someone else who wants to kill you. And I get that you’re afraid too, Tony. Wouldn’t it be, you know, better to be afraid together? For however long we can?”

The reasonable thing would be to say no. Tony knew what reasonable was. He’d definitely recognize it if it hit him in the face, kind of like it was doing now.

But he was holding Peter and he didn’t want to let go. He was weak and selfish and he wanted to keep holding on.

He was never made of iron, and the dead bitter old man could turn over and over in his grave until the wood of the coffin caught on fire from the friction for all Tony cared.

“On one condition,” Tony said.

“Oh really? What kind?”

“I’m making you a shield device and you are going to use it. Otherwise the deal is off.”

“Will you make it bouncy? I could drop from a rooftop and bounce off the sidewalk! How cool would that be?”

“About as cool as a kid on a trampoline,” Tony said and kissed Peter’s smiling lips.

“Spoilsport,” Peter mumbled into the kiss, and Tony retaliated with his hands under Peter’s - well, technically Tony’s - t-shirt, sliding along the long, smooth expanse of Peter’s back and resting just by the waistband of his jeans. Peter arched against him, hot and hard and heavy and gloriously alive.

Tony made sure to thoroughly enjoy it. You know, for however long he could.

* * *

“So, Spider-guy,” Clint began. “Answer me this: do you lay eggs?”

Peter took the time to chew and swallow his bite of steak and shrugged.

“I guess we’ll find out in about nine months from today, eh?” He said, calm as you please. Tony hid his smirk behind his coffee mug.

“TMI, dude!” Clint made a show of covering his ears with his hands.

“You got what you asked for,” Peter stuck out his tongue at him. “Just be happy you didn’t ask if I can shoot webs out of my ass.”

“Wait, that’s a thing that spiders do? So can y... mmhm!”

“You can talk about what comes out of whose ass somewhere far away from me having lunch. Which means not here and not now,” Natasha warned, taking her hand away from Clint’s mouth.

Clint was a smart guy and, to Tony’s disappointment, shelved that particular question for the time being.

Bruce was eating and reading as he often did and whatever TMI was flying around, it didn’t really reach him. Cap, on the other hand, was less fortunate, and Tony noted with glee that Cap’s ears were red - again. Who knew that talking about sex would embarrass the guy so much? One would think there was little that could give him pause after he travelled across the States with the USO girls. On the other hand, Cap was probably a true boy scout even then and only thought about promoting war effort.

“I received an update from S.H.I.E.L.D just before lunch,” Cap said, visibly striving to pretend there had been no such thing as an update on Tony and Peter’s sex life voiced just now. “The Goblin refuses to talk to anyone but Peter.”

“They want me to come in?” Peter looked down at his plate. “I guess I can...”

“No, on the contrary,” Cap said. “As you are in fact not an Avenger but a vigilante working outside of any normal channels, they insist on you not taking any part in the investigation. They’ll likely want to talk to you themselves later on, but that’s it.”

“What are they going to do with him?” Peter asked.

“My best guess is that they’ll lock him up in the Raft.”

“What’s the Raft?”

“A prison for super criminals.”

“Aren’t they going to, I don’t know, try and reverse what was done to him? Make him Harry again?”

“They have a science division...”

“Utterly pathetic,” Tony chimed in.

“...but they are not a research institution,” Cap ignored him effortlessly. Tony didn’t like it when people ignored him. “They primarily take care of security. Besides, are you even sure it can be undone? History knows many individuals changed by outside means, for example, you and me, but, as far as I know, reversing something like this has never been done.”

“Still, it’s not right,” Peter said quietly. “There must be a way to help him. He just wanted to survive. He never wanted to become the Goblin.”

“If there is a way, I’m sure it will be found.” Cap smiled at Peter reassuringly, and Tony bristled. Did he think Peter was a kid to be consoled with empty promises? “But until then he needs to be contained. I’m sure you of all people understand why.”

Peter said nothing to this and went back to eating but his appetite seemed to have vanished altogether.

“Hey, you,” Tony nudged his foot under the table. He hated seeing Peter so subdued. “There’s something we forgot.”

“Huh?”

“The cluster testing results,” Tony waved his phone in front of Peter’s face, and it seemed to work because Peter’s eyes went from listless to glowing with curiosity in a matter of seconds. That guy just couldn’t resist science, could he? It was a good thing Tony had a ton of it around. “Wanna take a look?”

“Give it here,” Peter demanded.

“Hmm, can you take it from me?” Tony raised an eyebrow, leaning back and holding the phone away from Peter.

They both knew Peter could grab it and somersault away before Tony had time to blink but Peter opted for reaching towards the phone like an average human, one hand braced against Tony’s chest.

“No fair! You offered, didn’t you?” Peter whined, making a show of trying to grab the phone, and Tony laughed as the only thing that came out of it was Peter plastering himself along Tony more closely.

God, he wouldn’t mind forgoing science and taking Peter to the bedroom right now. He didn’t remember being so horny all the time since he was in his twenties, slow desire always brimming under the surface and geyzering whenever he got sufficiently close to Peter.

Oh well, it wasn’t like anyone who took a look at Peter could blame Tony.

While Tony mused on the unruly behaviour of his hormones, Bruce reached out and neatly plucked the phone out of Tony’s hand.

“The test results look very promising,” Bruce said, using Tony’s flailing fingers to unlock the phone and ignoring Tony’s indignant ‘hey!”. “I feel like we’re getting close with the improved pattern structure. Tony, would you please pass the phone to Peter?”

Tony pouted in Bruce’s direction, got an amused look for it and passed the phone. Peter swiped through the semi-transparent sheets, only pausing briefly to take them in, his face scrunched up in concentration. Tony was officially in love with that brain.

“Okay, so I think the hexagonal pattern makes the most sense, there’s definitely been a response in the third cycle.” Without waiting for Tony’s or Bruce’s input, Peter called up a test form, filled it in with several quick taps and sent it off to processing.

“It’s asking for your confirmation,” he told Tony a moment later.

Tony was holding his coffee mug at the moment and really couldn’t be assed to let go of his preciousss just to jab his thumb into the scanner.

“Give him admin rights, J,” he said and proceeded to drink some more coffee.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Tony, are you sure?” Peter asked. “I mean, we’ve been to one date...”

One and a half, Tony thought but he’d probably bite his own tongue off before saying it out loud. He’d save the next bout of excess sappiness for their ten-year anniversary or something.

“It’s no biggie.” He shrugged. “I can always revoke it later if I need to.”

If he was going to be in on the whole ridiculous “let’s be afraid together” thing, he might as well be all in, right?

“By the way,” he added, “we’ve got a second date planned for tonight. Do you remember?”

“Christ, yeah.” Peter blinked. “Feels like it was a month ago when you texted me about it.”

“If you aren’t up for it, we can reschedule. How’s that ankle of yours?”

“It’s fine, the swelling’s already down. I’ll be right as rain when it’s time to leave. What should I wear? I don’t think I have anything to wear to a movie premiere,” Peter fretted.

“If I remember correctly, you were already settled on a lady Gaga bubble dress,” Tony deadpanned. “I wholeheartedly approve.”

Clint snorted into his sparkling water and splattered Cap with it. Cap grabbed a napkin with a long-suffering expression on his face but otherwise didn’t comment.

“I’d pay money to see that,” Clint said happily. “Like, real money. Please, please wear the dress!”

“Stop perving on my boyfriend, birdbrain,” Tony warned him. “I changed my mind, Peter, you are not allowed to wear the dress where anyone but me can see you.”

“All my dreams are crushed,” Peter rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and put on the suit I got for the prom.”

“Jeez, sometimes I forget how young you are but then you go and say something like that,” Clint commented. “Are you even legal to drink yet?”

“Tomorrow I am,” Peter said.

“Is that tomorrow already?” Tony wondered. “We should totally celebrate. Do you want to go to Venice? Or Hawaii? Do you want a giant Teddy Bear for your birthday? Or a million red roses? No? How about a giant Teddy Bear made of roses?”

“Your mind is a scary place,” Peter chuckled. “No, no, no, no and definitely no.”

“Alright, so what do you wanna do?”

“I don’t know yet, but something that won’t involve you throwing tons of money into my entertainment.” Peter’s voice was light, but firm. Tony remembered the last fight they’d had when money was brought up and cringed inwardly. Yeah, scratch Hawaii and Venice both. Roses, that he could maybe get away with if he went down from a million to a more or less normal amount. He’d have Jarvis Google how many was normal later. Or would Peter prefer robotic arms? That could count as a low-cost DIY present.

“Alright, how about a blowjob and a breakfast to bed in the morning? And we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“Tony!” Cap barked. “Could you kindly discuss your, your sexual exploits in private?”

“Nope.” Tony popped the ‘p’ in ‘nope’ in the most obnoxious manner he could manage, and Tony Stark was nothing if not the lord of obnoxiousness. “If I talk about ‘em here, I kill two birds with one stone: discuss my, as you so eloquently put it, exploits and get you all bothered at the same time. What’s your problem, anyway? Do your forties sensibilities protest against the very notion of gay sex?”

“That’s not it!” Cap protested. “I know it’s the twenty-first century now, and besides, I never cared who sleeps with whom as long as everyone involved is okay with it! Just don’t involve me, alright?”

“So what, you don’t mind as long as we don’t flaunt it?” Tony narrowed his eyes.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Cap also looked to be getting angry.

“Then what is it that you are saying? Please indulge me, explain.” Tony made a go on gesture with his hand.

Tense silence hung in the room for several seconds until Cap sighed and got up.

“I honestly don’t know how to explain it. I’m truly glad for both of you and for the fact that you are together, despite all the obvious and secret obstacles in your way. But I don’t want to hear about your sex life. I wasn’t comfortable listening to Bucky describing his female conquests eighty years ago and I’m not comfortable listening to you discussing sex plans now. I’m asking you to refrain from it when I’m nearby, that’s it.”

“So you’re just a prude, but not a discriminating one, is that what you’re saying?” Tony inquired.

“I guess it was too much to expect a little respect out of you,” Cap pressed his lips into a thin line and left.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, talking to the quietly closed door now. The door couldn’t hear him but he felt it was important to say the last word. “That was too much.”

“You are mean and shameless,” Peter noted.

“Why, would you like me to be chaste and kind?”

“God forbid. I think you’d explode if you tried to hold it all in,” Peter laughed. “Looking forward to that blowjob, by the way.”

Peter kissed Tony lightly on the lips, rested two fingertips on the table surface and, using those as a support point, flung himself over the table, fitting perfectly in the little space between Natasha and Clint. A napkin disturbed by the whoosh of air fluttered upwards and Natasha snatched it up without looking before it could land in the soup.

“Gotta go home, change for tonight,” Peter said. “See you later, tesoro mio.”

And he was off, leaving Tony struggling with a rush of affection (Italian endearments? When did that little show-off even have time to look them up?) and Bruce, Natasha and Clint’s disapproving glances. Right, causing conflicts inside the team was a no-no. He never really cared about this rule or any other, so he sort of forgot.

“What?” He asked. “You don’t think a blowjob is a good gift? Peter said he was looking forward to it.”

“Sometimes I’m glad the Earth doesn’t know how its mightiest heroes behave behind closed doors,” Natasha commented.

Deep inside, Tony agreed with her. The public had no need to know that they were all a little broken and - no matter what else they could be - extremely, overwhelmingly human.

Maybe he’d apologize to Cap for being such a relentless dick. Later. Next month, perhaps. Or next year. And in private.

God, he was looking forward to the date tonight to take his mind off the mess his life had become.

* * *

“Are you ready for your colleagues to get all up in your face?” Tony asked.

“I think so,” Peter said. He didn’t sound like he was.

“It’s not too late to back out. I can go on alone and Happy here will drive you back to wherever you want.”

“No, it’s alright. I knew what I was getting into, didn’t I?” Peter smirked at Tony.

Tony snorted because Peter most assuredly did not know and fished an extra pair of sunglasses our of his jacket pocket.

“Here, this helps with the camera flashes.”

Peter put them on.

“How do I look?”

“Like arm candy,” Tony grinned. “Come on, it’s show time.”

They waited until Happy opened the door for them. Tony got out first and held out his hand to help Peter. Cameras were clicking like crazy as Peter climbed out, clinging to Tony’s hand like a lifeline, and the questions were so loud and numerous that Tony couldn’t make out any single one in the overall din.

“Alright, let’s walk up over there. One foot in front of the other, that’s it.”

“I know how to walk,” Peter hissed.

“We all need a reminder now and then,” Tony replied.

They walked on, steadfastly ignoring the reporters on both sides of their path, and Tony felt Peter’s grip relax minutely. They could do it, just like this, one step at a time.

They were almost there when something fell from up high and rolled over to their feet, spinning lazily as it went.

It was an orange bomb, shaped like a Jack-o’-lantern with a huge, toothy smile.

For a very long second Tony stared at it, waiting for it to go off. Then someone screamed, and a gun went off, and Peter stumbled, cursing and clutching at his shoulder.

Blood seeped out between Peter’s fingers.

“You know what,” Peter breathed out through gritted teeth, “I don’t think we’re getting to watch a movie tonight.”

Then the bomb exploded in a brilliant flash of light.


	8. Chapter 8

One of the best things about being Spider-man was having these awesome reflexes. Looking back at the life before he was bitten by a radioactive spider, Peter honestly could not recall how he managed to get around being so slow, unable even to catch a falling mug before it hit the floor, not to mention anything more serious.

However, much as he appreciated his reflexes through the years, he had never been so ardently, fiercely grateful for them as he was now, bodily shielding Tony as the wave of fire exploded behind him and threw them both up and away like they were feather-light.

There went that prom suit. Oh well.

Peter twisted as they were about to land, sticking his shoulder out, and couldn’t hold a cry in when the shoulder took the brunt of the impact. He rolled along with the inertia, still hugging Tony, one hand splayed across his back and the other curled at the back of his head, and came to a stop after several spins, Tony turning out on top.

The pavement bit into the fresh wounds on Peter’s back but he paid it little mind - he’d heal, like he always did - feeling for Tony’s pulse instead, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Hey, you okay?”

Tony blinked and pointed at his ears. Right. Non-enhanced body plus an explosion close by equaled some completely expected ringing in one’s ears. At least Tony didn’t look directly hurt by the heat or the debris and seemed completely lucid.

He scrambled off Peter and pulled him by the hand, urging him to get up. It was a smart idea, so Peter followed. They ran for cover by the side of a building, and not a moment too soon: bullets zipped past, digging into the pavement under their feet. They took a swift turn and a narrow dark alley hid them from view.

“Fuck-fuckity-fuck,” His voice too loud, Tony yanked his phone up out of his pocket and brought it to his mouth. “Jarvis, contact the Avengers, we need back-up here stat!”

“Contacting the Avengers,” Jarvis said, cool and collected as always.

As they waited, Peter listened to the gunshots outside and kicked himself for not bringing the suit. On the other hand, he could hardly walk into a fancy premiere with a backpack, could he? And with the Goblin having been apprehended only hours earlier, he really didn’t expect any such trouble.

Perhaps it wasn’t the Goblin himself, maybe it was an accomplice Peter didn’t know about? Or had he managed to escape from the Raft or from whatever intermediary place where S.H.I.E.L.D. had him?

“The Avengers are currently under attack,” Jarvis said. As he talked, the same text appeared on the phone screen for Tony’s convenience, and it was probably a bad time for this but Peter was seriously awed by the level of awareness and judgement Jarvis demonstrated.

“What? Who the fuck is attacking them if the Goblin is here?”

“According to the preliminary data compiled by my sensors in the Tower, the attackers are Hydra, sir.”

“Who!?”

“Hydra, sir. The Nazi organization founded in...”

“Stop channeling Siri,” Tony snapped. “I take it, no back-up is coming?”

“I have informed the Avengers of your predicament, sir, however, at the moment they are all engaged. Captain Rogers asked me to pass it on that the Avengers will come to your aid as soon as it is feasible.”

“Oh, how fucking nice of him! Feasible! I bet it’s feasible that whatever’s gonna be left of us by the time they get here will only be suitable to be buried in closed coffins! Send me a suit, J.”

“Mark 36 is already on the way, sir.”

“One time I leave the bracelets at home,” Tony muttered. “One time!”

Peter concentrated, his eyelids sliding down. Like this, the sounds of the world bloomed wide open, as if his hearing was taking over the space in his mind that vision no longer occupied. He could hear the crinkling of the fabric of Tony’s jacket, his own breathing grown to powerful gusts of wind, the thunderous thuds his own blood made as it hit the ground like a hammer meeting an anvil. An impatient driver honking at least twenty blocks away. The low buzz of electricity running through the enormous neon boards of the Times Square.

He could hear twenty-two goons in heavy army boots tearing through the terrified crowd; he picked out every incoherent scream that people in leather shoes and high heels let out. The Goblin was cackling madly forty feet up and sightly to the right, calling out for Peter not to be shy, to show his face and play. His glider hummed irregularly, with an effort that let Peter know it was not fixed properly after being smacked into the ground earlier today.

“As soon as the suit gets here, I’m taking you to safety.”

Peter opened his eyes, dialing his hearing back down. He relished the sensation of Tony’s warm hand on his shoulder but he couldn’t let Tony do what he’d said just because it meant comfort and care.

“There are people getting hurt out there,” he said. “I can’t let that happen.”

He could tell by the way Tony was tilting his head to listen that there were still some lingering issues with his ears after the explosion. It seemed to have gotten better, though.

“You don’t have your suit, you don’t have your webshooters, you’re wounded!” Tony was pleading, eyes wide - where had his sunglasses gone? Peter never even noticed them falling off. “Please, Peter. You can’t go out there now.”

“I’m still Spider-man,” Peter reminded him because although Tony knew that, it seemed like a good moment to remind him. “I’m always going to fight.”

“They are gonna kill you,” Tony whispered, something broken in his voice. Peter wished it didn’t have to happen just after they’d discussed it. They should have had more time to adjust.

He guessed that wasn’t in the job description.

“No, they are not,” he promised. He had no power to give out promises like this but he wanted Tony to believe him. Believe that Peter would do everything he could to come out of it alive. “I have a plan, and you’ll back me up. Jarvis, how long till that suit gets here?”

“ETA forty-three seconds, Mr. Parker.”

Wild hope lightened Tony’s face - Peter could pinpoint the exact moment in time when Tony let himself believe that they could both make it unscathed through the rest of their evening if they were just smart enough and cautious enough.

Peter’s spidey sense flared up, making every hair on his body stand on end.

However hard Tony thought it was for him to watch Peter going off to fight, Peter could bet his webshooters that it was harder to crush that hope by pushing (half-pushing, half-tossing, more like) Tony off to the far end of the alley. So fucking hard, even though it was not his fault that they didn’t have the forty-three seconds before the Hydra goons showed up to check this corner.

Peter turned to faced them - four, all armed. Two revolvers, a machine gun and a futuristic-looking blaster, probably the most dangerous weapon of the four.

“Spider-man,” the goon with the blaster said. Peter named him Pew-Pew in his head. “Come on out, don’t make us shoot you in the knee and drag you out.”

Thirty-eight more seconds. That was for how long Peter needed to stand his ground here. He had no idea if he could.

“That doesn’t sound like a party I wanna join,” Peter said. ”Sorry, guys. Raincheck?”

“You talk too much,” the Machine Gun guy said and opened fire.

Thirty-four.

Peter dived down, letting the bullets streak above, and kicked a dumpster with enough strength to give the Hulk a run for his money. It creaked and groaned as it soared into the air, meeting the bullets just in time. Peter didn’t hear Tony crying out or smell blood, so he hoped none of the bullets managed to reach Tony. He didn’t dare look away from the goons to check for sure.

“Don’t kill him, you moron!” Pew-Pew hit Machine Gun on the arm, making him drop the weapon. “The higher-ups need him alive.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” Machine Gun protested. “Just stop him from jumping around. Have you seen videos of this guy on YouTube?”

“Yeah, and if you watched more of them, you’d know he can dodge bullets if he sees them coming,” Pew-Pew was getting angry but his blaster was still steadily trained on Peter, as well the revolvers. “Shut up and do as I say.”

Peter would have laughed if it wasn’t all life and death - namely, Tony’s life and death.

Twenty-eight.

“Can I at least shoot Stark?” Machine Gun asked. “No one needs him.”

“Be my guest,” Pew-Pew said.

Twenty-five. Deep breath.

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed. He shifted slightly to the side to make sure he was between Tony and the gun. “Don’t you guys need to make sure about that? I mean, he’s Tony Stark, you know. If you go out in the street and ask if anyone needs him, there’ll be like a dozen people ready to take him on the spot. Don’t sell him short, he’s an Avenger! You knew that, right? He lives in that huge tower over there and fights crime in a super suit of armor. Check with your bosses first, I’m sure they’ll want to have a talk with him! And no one can talk with somebody who was shot to death because they are, well, you know, kind of dead after that. It’s awkward trying to talk to a dead person. They never say anything back, it feels like they are being rude, but they can’t really help it, can they?”

“Shut up!” Machine Gun ordered.

“Yeah, okay,” Peter agreed, smiling.

Zero.

Pew-Pew’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Peter’s smile but before he could do anything, a nicely angled repulsor blast knocked Machine Gun into him. In turn, he hit the Revolvers who managed to shoot once or twice each before being smashed into the ground. The bullets hit the wall and Peter was never so happy about the shoddy material choice for a building in his life because the bullets sank into the wall and stayed there instead of pinging off it.

“I admire how much you can talk without pausing for breath,” Tony said. The armor opened up and he stepped in, shedding his jacket to allow for more room inside. “It literally just saved my ass.”

“I had a very good incentive,” Peter grinned. “I happen to like your ass.”

“Well...” Tony hesitated, and Peter’s heart kind of skipped a beat. “Just make sure you’re in a good enough shape to admire it up close by the end of the night, okay?”

It was the sweetest innuendo Peter had ever heard, or maybe the dirtiest ‘be careful’ in the history of ‘be careful’s. He couldn’t decide which it was.

“Alright,” he said, smiling. He couldn’t help it.

Tony nodded.

“Now, you mentioned a plan. Where’s that shiny pretty new plan? I’m all aflutter to hear it.”

“Go help the people in the crowd,” Peter said. “What’s that on your armor, sonic repulsors? That’ll work. Take out the goons, and if a couple of civilians are caught on the edges, they won’t be hurt.”

“It’s the Peacemaker armor. Perfect for crashing parties such as this one. And by the way, where will you be while I’m all heroic out there?”

“I’ll take care of the Goblin.”

“This is the worst plan I’ve heard in the last twenty years,” Tony said. “Right there, taking the second place just below the plan for a zoo heist I concocted while consisting of more cognac than water after my third doctorate celebration party.”

“I’ve got to hear that story,” Peter said. “I think that’s what I want as my birthday present.”

“Who would’ve thought a catch like you would be so low-maintenance.” Peter heard the smile in Tony’s voice. “Anyway, it’s still a bad plan. A horrible, terrible, no-good plan.”

“I have fought him before.”

“In your suit. With your webs. Not while wounded.”

“That’s just a flesh wound. It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“If you think it’s a good argument, they must have gotten your head too, not just your back.”

Peter glared at Tony. Iron Man’s visor glared back.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m equipped to fight or not,” Peter said. “He’ll come after me. If I don’t go and fight him, he will kill people. He will kill all those people out there and he will kill you and aunt May. He was my friend once, and I know him well enough to be sure that he won’t stop until he is dead.”

Tony was silent for several seconds, and Peter inwardly begged him to be faster because there were gunshots out there, and the Goblin got closer and closer, and the fantastic four fools lying over there by the wall were undoubtedly already missed. They didn’t have time for this, he thought and yet he waited.

“Okay,” Tony said. “Okay.”

He flipped his face plate open and leaned down, and even with all that warning the kiss still took Peter unawares, scorching, desperate, tasting like blood and fear and desire.

“For luck,” Tony said, slid the face plate down and took off.

With the memory of the kiss still burning his lips, Peter took the weapons from the unconscious Pew-Pew, Machine Gun, Revolver One and Revolver Two and tied them up with their own belts. It was a poor substitute for his webs but hopefully S.H.I.E.L.D. or the police would be here to take them in before they managed to free themselves. As for the weapons, he threw most of those in the dumpster for the lack of a better hiding place but took the blaster.

With it in hand, he stepped out of the alley, aimed up and a little to the side and fired.

The tiny blaster packed a surprising punch - it jerked in Peter’s hand like it was alive and let out a thick, neon-bright red beam. The Goblin’s glider shuddered when the beam connected and Peter heard the metal hissing as it melted.

The Goblin wailed in anger as the glider went down, and Peter was listening for any echo of Harry’s voice and couldn’t find it. He watched the Goblin stop fighting the unresponsive glider controls and jump off, a bright green parachute opening above.

“Petey!” The Goblin showed his teeth and Peter wondered if it was supposed to be a smile. “I was starting to think you were going to ditch me!”

“I didn’t think you’d miss me,” Peter said. “You’ve found new friends, haven’t you? The Hydra, huh? How did that happen?”

The Goblin giggled.

“I didn’t go looking for them, Petey-boy! You handed me to them like a Christmas present!”

“What?”

“They are S.H.I.E.L.D., you naive little fool. They are everywhere. They are Hydra.”

Peter swallowed. There was a tinny sound in his ears and he suddenly had trouble breathing.

“They can’t all be Hydra,” he said. His lips felt alien, moving partly out of their own accord. “Peggy Carter founded S.H.I.E.L.D. She would never have become a part of Hydra.”

“Oh, but they didn’t ask her, did they? They came quietly and infiltrated and waited, for so many years. And now they are strong enough to take what they want by force.”

“They have ambition, I’ll give them credit for that,” Peter said. His breathing was coming back and evening out slowly; his body was working through the shock, dissolving it like a sugar cube in a glass of tea.

If Hydra had to take power by force, it meant they had someone to fight for it.

“I don’t really see where you come in, though.”

“They asked me if I wanted to work for them.” The Goblin sneered. “I have money, I have resources - they can always use both. I told them I don’t mind, as long as I get the one thing I want.”

“Let me guess, that thing is killing me?”

“You’re correct, Petey-boy,” the Goblin said. “You get a gold star. I can tattoo it on your corpse’s forehead.”

An orange bomb gleamed in the air, and Peter vaulted himself backwards, biting back a gasp when he landed on his hands and his shoulder responded with sharp pain. The bomb flew past just above him and he didn’t wait for it to go off - he ran away from it and towards the Goblin.

He hit the Goblin in the face - that caricature of a face, a parody of Harry that had so often appeared in his nightmares - and felt the nose shattering under his knuckles. Thick green blood coated his hand. And he made to hit again but the Goblin was ready to block Peter’s fist.

Everything was distant: the pain of his injuries, the sounds of Tony fighting eighteen armed goons, the voices and the neon lights and the chilly evening wind. He had never fought the Goblin like that before, hand-to-hand, but he had tussled with Harry when the latter was willing to mess up his hair, a long time ago when they were both children still. The hazy memory of mock fights with his best friend was so weird against the reality of blood and pain, dodging and striking. The Goblin might not have been what the Oscorp scientists intended when developing their formula but he received strength and agility in spades. They were evenly matched, here.

“Stop fighting,” Peter pleaded and jerked to the side letting a fist fly by. “Give yourself up. We can help you, we can find a cure...”

“Oh, but I’m not sick. Not anymore.” The Goblin threw a knife at Peter and the blade grazed his forearm. “Funny how you were never so eager to help your best bud out when you had the upper hand.”

And the thing was, Peter was sorry for hurting Harry like he did when he refused to give him Spider-man’s blood, sorry for not being there more, sorry for letting it all spiral, not seeing what was going to happen - sorry for many things but not for refusing to endanger Harry just because he asked. That was the right thing to do, even if the execution kind of sucked.

A woman screamed somewhere behind them, and the familiar whine of Tony’s repulsors got faster, more urgent. Peter swallowed the long-winded apologies and desperate pleas and went on fighting because he didn’t know what else he could say after all this time and have the Goblin listen to him.

He was getting out of breath already, what with the blood he’d lost and the resources that his body stubbornly rerouted towards healing the wounds on his back, his regenerating skin tickling and pulling and adding a note of general discomfort. The Goblin, on the other hand, seemed to have been provided rest and care by the Hydra S.H.I.E.L.D., moving with ease and grace.

A blow connected with Peter’s sternum and he gasped for air where there was none. The Goblin made to thrust the metal claws in his face and Peter had to fall on his knees to avoid it. Still trying and failing to inhale, he swiped at the Goblin’s knees, breaking his balance, and pulled at him by the ankle. The Goblin went down and immediately rolled away, kicking Peter in the face - or trying to, as Peter let go and vaulted backwards from his knees, his landing steady although not as smooth as it could have been.

They were still for a moment, staring at each other, catching their breath and making strategies. At least three meters separated them and someone had to make the first move to get closer, telegraphing their intentions. Neither wanted to do that.

“Stand down, or I’ll shoot her!”

Peter jerked him gaze up, above the Goblin’s shoulder, and there was Tony, hovering in the air, his orange and silver armor glinting in the artificial light, and there was a goon on the ground, holding a gun to a sobbing woman’s head.

“Hey there, grumpypants,” Tony said cheerfully. “How about you put that thing down, huh? I understand completely, it’s such a nice shiny toy, but really, there’s no need to wave it around, can’t we talk like civilized people? What do you think about that?”

“Shut your mouth and get out of that armor,” the goon was having none of it, and with the way communication was hyped up these days, why didn’t talking ever work? Jeez. “And you, shut up!”

The gun muzzle slid down from the woman’s temple to her throat and Peter could hear the honest effort she made to be quieter, sucking the air in and holding it, whimpers and sobs still escaping her here and there.

Peter had no idea who she was - he thought he had seen her on TV a couple of times but with this crowd it’d be a safe bet they all had been on TV at some point - but he still wished he could deliver a proper, full-strength kick to this guy’s testicles. You don’t use innocent people for your own nasty evil purposes, not on Peter’s watch.

Tony lowered himself to the ground slowly and stepped out of the armor, and Peter’s guts clenched at the sight of him, entirely too human and defenceless like this, standing where bullets were likely to fly again very soon. He raised his hands, smiling soothingly.

“See, I’m doing what you want. Everything’s cool, in fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s all peachy keen. I put my weapons away, and now you’ve gotta put away yours, fair’s fair, you know?”

The goon didn’t look impressed with the idea of fairness, and his gun didn’t come down.

“Ahh,” the Goblin said, having traced where Peter’s gaze was directed at. “The little Tin Man. I remember threatening him because you liked him. It had your spider-panties in a twist, didn’t it? I didn’t know if I could really damage him, of course, with that thrice-damned armor of his. And to be honest, Petey-boy, I didn’t think it would really go anywhere between the two of you. You used to go after the wide-eyed and innocent ones, didn’t you? Guess you’re in the market for sugar daddies now. Who would’ve thought.”

Not that it mattered what the Goblin thought of Peter’s choice in partners but Peter bristled nonetheless. The Goblin knew fuck all when it came to Tony, okay?

“Puzzling as it is, I’m glad to see how genuinely attached you are.” The Goblin grinned, showing teeth sharp like a shark’s. “That’s another loved one for me to kill before your eyes.”

Oh, crap.

“You, with the gun!” The Goblin bellowed. “The one holding that chick, yes. Shoot Stark!”

The time slowed down as Peter watched the goon move the gun away from the woman and point it at Tony. It must have all been fast but it felt more like an eternity because it could not have taken less than that for the dread to seep into Peter’s very bone marrow and settle there, cold and burning at the same time, could it?

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony said, “why is everyone so trigger-happy here anyway? What did I ever do to you, you walking cucumb-”

The goon pulled the trigger.

Peter knew he would not get there in time to push Tony away or take the bullet for him but he tried anyway, darting across the sidewalk, using the Goblin as a foothold for a jump - as fast as he could, as desperate as could be. He was not fast enough anyway, and his heart stopped for a nauseating, numb moment until he saw that indeed, the Goblin had been right to worry whether he’d be able to hurt Iron Man.

Another armor swooped down in front of Tony, the bullet ricocheting off of it with a ‘ping’. The woman, whom the goon had forgotten to hold as tight for the last minute, slipped away from his grasp, tripped on her own high heel and fell down on the red carpet, covering her head with her hands.

Tony raised his hand to touch the armor and it opened along the back, engulfing him like a wave of hot-rod red and gold and closing seemlessly.

“You told me to get out of the armor but you never specified if it was okay to get into another one,” Tony said, and Peter wished briefly they had time and opportunity for him to kiss that audible smirk off of Tony’s lips.

The remaining goons opened fire without further ado.

Peter’s spidey sense went off like an alarm clock, hysterically loud and insistent, and he reacted without thinking, throwing himself into a roll. The Goblin’s claws swished where Peter’s neck had just been.

Peter climbed back to his feet and had to dodge again right away, and again, and again. The Goblin’s face, such as it was, was a grimace of fury and bloodlust, his eyes glassy in a way that caused Peter to wonder if there was any rational thinking going on behind them at all anymore.

He sidestepped the blows, vicious but lacking precision, leaning this way and that. It felt like a strange lethal dance that Peter didn’t really want to be a part of. He looked for an opening to get in a blow or two of his own, and soon enough a wide swing of the Goblin’s let Peter plop on the ground, spin and hit with both feet, directly into the Goblin’s unprotected chest.

The force of it was enough to toss the Goblin up in the air and propel him into the nearest wall. Bits of brick and cement exploded around him, and before they settled Peter was there, dealing the dazed Goblin a blow to the temple - enough to knock him out at last.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Tony called. “I think I’ve found us a new friend who’s gonna tell us all about how and why he crashed the party tonight!”

When Peter looked back over his shoulder, Tony was holding a goon by the collar, probably higher than it was comfortable for anyone unable to fly or heal broken bones over a couple of days. He took the time to tie the Goblin up - never again was he going to leave home without his webshooters, date or no date, dammit - and walked over to Tony, grinning like a loon. His back hurt all over, his shoulder ached like crazy and his ankle was displeased with how it got a workout right after it’d healed a rather nasty break, but Peter couldn’t help it, he was so relieved that this fight was over and they were both still alive. It was nothing short of a miracle, really.

“Well?” Tony shook the goon, and the latter yelped.

“Okay, okay,” he licked his lips, looking nervous which was par for the course for someone in his situation. He was quite young, maybe the same age as Peter. “The thing is...”

Everything seemed to be fine but Peter felt the hair on his arms stand on end, the spidey sense warning him about something bad about to happen. It wasn’t as immediate as an attack incoming but it was still bad.

“Tony!” Peter remembered some bits and pieces about Hydra he’d read in history books. “He’s going to-”

“Hail Hydra!” The goon squeezed his eyes shut and his jaws as well.

“Fuck!” Tony landed abruptly but even the couple of second that it took him to get down was long enough for the goon to go slack in his arms. Cyanide worked fast.

“Fanatic.” Tony flipped his face plate open, and it hit Peter how tired Tony looked.

“They all are,” Peter said.

The crowd of premiere goers had long since dispersed, except for that woman who looked like she had fainted at some point, and the remaining enemies were unconscious. It was hard to get back to the feeling of sheer relief that Peter had experienced just a few moments ago, though.

“I don’t know how much you heard of what the Goblin told me,” Peter said. “According to him, a large part of the S.H.I.E.L.D. is Hydra and they are feeling strong enough to strike out tonight. Apparently, they sort of recruited him or made a deal with him, so that’s why he’s not locked up. Never really has been.”

“We had a great timing when we brought him to them, didn’t we?” Tony’s lips twisted into an unhappy smile. “Let me check how the fight at the Tower is going. If it’s all done there, I’m bringing you over and tending to that back of yours as soon as I can. Personally.”

Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. An infection would be extremely inconvenient now, no matter how fast his body would burn through it.

* * *

The fight at the Tower had in fact dwindled down by the time Tony called in, and as they flew back, leaving the clean-up to the NYPD, Peter made a note to ask Tony to fly with him again under less dire circumstances. It was a different feeling compared to swinging, much more controlled and powerful - less agility, more coiled strength - and the way Tony was holding Peter effortlessly and carefully, like he weighed nothing and was precious and breakable, made tenderness and exhilaration clog Peter’s throat.

When they touched down in Tony’s living room, broken glass crunching under Iron Man’s metal boots, Peter was a bit disappointed to have it over so soon. There was no time to talk about that, though, with the Black Widow and Captain America waiting for them in that completely trashed room.

“We’ve got a prisoner,” Captain America said, giving both of them a quick once-over to make sure no one was going to keel over and die right there and then. “Clint and Bruce are with him now, they’ve already begun the interrogation.”

“What about the cyanide capsule in his mouth?” Tony stepped out of the armor.

“I took care of that,” the Black Widow said, and Peter believed her.

They went downstairs, to a floor that no one occupied but which, as far as Peter could tell, was kept for guest purposes or for a moment when the Avengers team grew. Hawkeye and Dr. Banner were there with the prisoner, a wild-looking middle-aged man with shiners under both eyes.

Without a capsule to fall back on, the man talked. He spewed a lot of fanatical nonsense which Peter let fly out the other ear without paying much attention to it, but he also gave up some information that left Peter dumbfounded by the sheer scale of it. The fucking secretary of state was in on it, too, not to mention countless others holding positions of less importance. It took the Black Widow breaking the prisoner’s arm to get that out of him. Peter felt squeamish about it but he understood how that was necessary.

“We don’t know who we can trust at S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore,” Captain America said, and Peter thought that at this particular moment all of his ninety-something years showed.

“Well, that’s a problem easily solved, Capsicle,” Tony said. A holographic screen with a keyboard came to life in front of him. “First, trust no one anyway. Second, nothing is so secret that I can’t hack it.”

“I hate that arrogance of yours,” Captain America muttered. “Except I know by now it’s completely founded.”

It took Tony three hours to get through to the Hydra files buried underneath the layers and layers of security in the S.H.I.E.L.D. servers. It could have taken longer if Peter didn’t join in, after getting huge mugs full of coffee for both of them. He tuned out the residual pain and worked alongside Tony, marveling at how much hacking together resembled fighting together, how easy it was to throw a line of code Tony’s way and see him weave it into a beautiful, vicious virus that got them deeper in, to work on the same firewall from two ends and meet in the middle, having demolished it completely.

Was that what all of their future was going to be like, assuming they had any together? If so, Peter was looking forward to it more fervently than to Santa visits on Christmas morning when he was four.

“We’re in,” Tony said. He took the sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck, that’s a shit ton of data.”

Photos, names, dossiers, reports were floating in front of them, stacks so thick they would have taken up the whole floor had they been paper instead of holograms.

“It’ll take months to sort through everything with just the six of us,” Captain America said.

“It doesn’t have to be just the six of us,” the Black Widow said.

Tony looked at her sharply as if he understood what she was talking about. Good for him, because Peter had no clue.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tony asked.

“I’m not a mind-reader but I think so, yes.” She smiled, looking more like a trained assassin than ever. “With a company as big as yours, I believe you’re familiar with the concept of outsourcing?”

“It’s not exactly the same since we’re not going to be paying them,” Tony noted.

Paying whom, Peter wondered, and Captain America voiced the same question.

“The Hydra hides in plain sight,” the Black Widow said. “I’m thinking, why don’t we point the general public’s attention towards them?”

And then Peter got it.

“Holy shit!” He said because that plan deserved a ‘holy shit’ and then some. “You’re going to just dump it all out there? On Twitter, Facebook, Wikileaks..?”

“There and more,” Tony confirmed. “Millions will happily go through all this data in no time. Everywhere a Hydra agent turns, they’ll see someone looking up from their phone and going ‘hey, I’ve just seen your face in the list of murderous Nazi bastards in my newsfeed, so very not nice to meet you!’”

“Millions?” Captain America repeated dubiously. Right, being from the forties as he was, he likely still didn’t really understand how much the Internet meant these days.

“Billions, more like,” Peter said. He could barely contain his excitement. “Let’s do it!”

A little egotistical worm in his head also told him that, as a nice bonus side-effect, everyone would be paying too much attention to the Hydra news to look towards any witness accounts ID’ing him as Spider-man.

Tony looked at Peter, and something in his concerned eyes told Peter that Tony had the same worm in his own head telling him things and wholeheartedly agreed with it.

He reached out and took Tony’s hand in his, getting a reassuring squeeze in return.

“Let’s do it,” he said again.

Captain America looked largely unconvinced but nodded nonetheless.

“Jarvis, would you do the honors?”

“Certainly, sir.”

They waited for a few seconds until Jarvis spoke again:

“It is done.”


End file.
